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LIBRARY 


GUENEVERE 


GUENEVERE 

A  PLAY  IN  FIVE  ACTS 


BY 

STARK  YOUNG 


THE   GRAFTON   PRESS 

NEW   YORK  MCMVI 


Copyright,  1906 
By  STARK  YOUNG 


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EDWARD  JOHNSON 

"  longe  quos  simul  a  domo  profectos 
diverse  maria  et  viae  reportant " 


DRAMATIS   PERSONS 

KING  ARTHUR. 
GUENEVERE,  his  wife. 
SIR  LAUNCELOT. 
SIR  GAWAIN 


nephews  to  the  king,  and  brothers. 


SIR  MORDRED 

SIR  AGRAVAINE 

SIR  GARETH 

SIR  KAY,  the  seneschal. 

DAGONET,  the  queen's  page. 

MORWENA,  the  abbess  at  Boscastle. 

AGATHA,  a  sister. 

LYONE  LE  BLANCHE 

YGRAINE  ladies  to  the  queen. 

ENID 

TOR,  COLGREVAUNCE,  PfiLEAS,  IDAWC,  BORS,  URI- 
ENS,  MELIAGRAUNCE,  CADOR,  BREUSE,  PERSAUNT, 
BLAMOR,  URRE,  knights  of  King  Arthur's  court; 
a  woman;  other  minor  persons. 


GUENEVERE 


'Quanto  la  cosa  e  piii  perfetta 
Piu  senta  il  bene  e  cosi  la  doglienza. 


ACT  I 

A  wood  near  Mordred' s  castle.  A  path  runs  across;  on 
the  right  side  the  big  rocks  stand;  on  the  left  the  ground 
is  less  broken.  It  is  the  first  day  of  May,  the  wood  is 
all  green,  and  the  wild  flowers  blooming.  There  is  a 
sound  of  running  water,  and  many  birds  sing  in  the 
trees. 

Enter  SIR  MORDRED,  SIR  AcRAVAiNE,  and  SIR  GAWAIN. 
Mordred 

Curse  those  little  feathered  devils,  all 

The  trees  are  full  of  them,  singing  as  if 

The  air  were  silver  sweet  with  feast  bells, 

And  the  world  were  sweet,  and  life  sweet  and  free 

From  hate. 
Gawain 

Come,  come,  my  lord,  let  the  birds  alone,  their  notes 

Are  sweet  and  limpid  like  the  lives  of  simple 

Men  in  this  world 
Mordred 

Aye,  squeeze  your  stale  morals  from  nature,  brother, 

For  every  weather  a  mood.     As  if  she  had 

Not  planted  in  our  bloods  the  heaviness 

Of  hate,  as  I  do  hate  Sir  Launcelot, 

And  scorn  the  white-souled  Arthur. 
Agravaine 

And  I  do  hate  this  lusty  knight. 

9 


io  GUENEVERE 


,  Brothers,  stint  your  noise.     Ye  know 
And  well  that  had  Sir  Launcelot  not  proved 
Himself  in  our  behalf,  we  had  been  by  now 
Full  cold  at  the  heart-root.     He  hath  saved  us  all, 
And  many  a  time,  has  wen  — 

Agravaine 

Small  matter  that.     He  hath  a  joy  in  heat 
And  struggle. 

Gawain 

Small  matter  very  like,  and  men  do  hate 
The  objects  of  their  own  ingratitude. 

Agravaine 
Daily  and  nightly  he  is  with  the  queen. 

Gawain 
Ye  know  it  not. 

Mordred 
Aye,  do  we.     And  the  king  is  shamed  - 

Gawain 

Nay,  nay,  spare  that,  you  care  not  for  Arthur,  'tis 
Some  privy  hate  you  bear  the  queen,  or  grudge 
Against  Sir  Launcelot. 

Mordred 

Tush!  'tis  all  prattle.     Lend  me  your  ear,  good  brother. 
Come,  think  you  not  in  any  of  us  three 
Were  stuff  for  a  king  ? 

Gawain 
Thou  king?     Said  I  not  so?     Shame,  Mordred,  shame! 

Agravaine 

Nay,  nay,  brother  Mordred,  'tis  the  general  cause 
That  moves  thee,  'member  that,  the  general  cause. 

Gawain 

Be  not  so  busy,  I  pray  you,  for  of  this 
Will  the  whole  realm  be  mischieved. 

Mordred 
Fall  what  may,  what  I  have  said  I  have  said. 


GUENEVERE  1 1 

Gawain 

That  I  believe,  for  thou  hadst  ever  a  tooth 
For  all  unhappiness. 

Mordred 

King  Arthur  hath  consented  to  this  plan 
To  take  the  queen  by  force  and  lie  in  wait 
For  Launcelot  to  rescue  her. 

Gawain 
Take  the  queen,  thou  sayest  ? 

Agravaine 

Then  some  romantic  hour  to  catch  the  two 
Together. 
Gawain 
Take  the  queen  ? 

Mordred 

Hist!  here's  two  —  the  first  is  Idawc 
Of  Cornwall;  'tis  your  poetical, 
Gapes-at-a-ballad  cub  —  he'll  be  with  us. 
And  old  Sir  Kay,  sour  as  curds.     (Enter  Idawc  and  Sir 

Kay)     How  now 

Fair  lords  ?     We  speak  of  the  widening  reft  betwixt 
The  king  and  the  queen,  what  think  you  ? 

Kay 
'Tis  a  great  tangle,  this  marriage  knot. 

Gawain 
The  king  consents  ?     To  snare  the  queen  ? 

Mordred 

Consents,  though  we  had  nigh  not  brought  him  to  it. 
He  hath  a  deeming  strong  as  ours,  but  shuns 
The  outcome  of  such  publishment  of  falseness 
In  the  heart  of  the  realm.     'Tis  a  dreamer,  and  his  world 
Peoples  itself  with  airy  shapes,  and  stretches 
Rapt  vistas  for  his  eye  to  travel  in, 
Conversing  with  visions.     They  say  he  hath 
Small  ear  for  the  queen,  but  hourly  weigheth  him 
Some  cloud-vast  enterprise  or  famous  venture, 
So  that  his  kingdom  is  his  spouse  and  not 


12  GUENEVERE 

The  queen.     To  him  she  is  fair  womanhood, 

The  finer  element  within  the  scheme, 

And  not  a  woman.     Therefore  being  human  - 

Idawc 
True,  dost  thou  — 

Kay 

True,  most  true.     It  is  no  king  men  see, 
But  is  a  mist. 

Idawc 

Dost  thou  remember  once  at  harvest  time  — 
'Twas  at  the  dying  twilight,  and  the  moon, 
Drowsily  waking  from  the  dusky  east, 
Did  shed  a  glamorous  vapour  o'er  the  water. 
Bargemen  hither,  thither  ran  to  light 
Their  torches,  music  strummed,  and  on  the  bank 
Thronged  with  embarkings  for  the  river  pageant  — 

Agravaine 

Came  what  —  well,  what  is't  at  the  pageant?     Here's 
No  time  for  fooling,  youth. 

Idawc 

Why,  on  a  barge  sheathed  all  in  golden  samite, 
We  saw  the  white  queen  like  fair  summer  wings 
Upon  a  lotus  flower.     There  apart 
Stood  Arthur  musing,  chin  in  hand,  or  gazed 
On  the  stars,  and  sad  dim  space,  as  he  would  read 
Their  meaning.     Lo!  one  said,  "Seest  not  the  queen 
Upon  yon  barge,  my  lord?"     Arthur  turned 
Where  she  did  beckon  him  to  look  on  her, 
And  said,  "White  hue  on  yellow,  sure  some  sign, 
Fair  virtue  thus  surmounteth  jealousy." 
So  killed  all  joyaunce  with  his  moral  carp. 
But  Launcelot  beheld  her  as  a  vision, 
And  cried,  all  dazed  with  her  loveliness, 
"God's  life,  thou'rt  fairer  than  the  heaven!" 

Kay 

Odds,  by  my  beard,  'tis  past  my  patience. 
What  woman  cares  to  prate  of  attributes, 


GUENEVERE  13 

Of  whys  and  wherefores  and  such  moral  twaddle  ? 
These  axioms  be  poor  pudding  for  their  stomachs 
When  they  might  hear  men  sing  their  beauty's  praise  — 

Idawc 
Fie,  my  lord! 

Kay 

Fie  not.     The  king  is  blinded  with  star-dust, 
For  once  I  ventured:  "If  thou  thoughtest  more 
Of  this  same  fleshly  world,  my  lord, 
'Twere  better  haply  for  thee  and  for  it." 
Said  I,  "There's  holiness  as  true,  I  wis, 
About  the  humblest,  rushlit  cottage  door 
As  at  the  Portal  of  the  Starry  Lamps. 
Men's  souls  need  human  fellowship  to  ripen 
Them  for  God,  as  many  twigs  do  lift 
Higher  the  flame."     Methought  in  that 
I  was  fair  eloquent  - 

Mordred 

And  he  —  mark  me  it  was  some  ponderable 
Stuff  he  spake  — 

Kay 

He  turned  and  said,  "Here  in  this  life  the  soul 
Is  solitary  and  yearns  ever  toward 
The  Solitary,  the  Great  One  beyond." 
Meaning  somewhat  I  dare  say,  for  he  bent 
Upon  me  his  wide-dreaming  eye 
Till  I  was  wildered  with  their  steady  burning. 

Mordred 

Come,  'tis  no  time  now  for  remembrances. 
Soon  come  the  knights  to  hear  our  plot.     They  will 
Lend  hands,  for  ever  trouble-brew  draws  men. 
From  diverse  causes  — 

Gawain 

Aye,  some  like  me  for  stubborn  certainty 
Desire  to  prove  at  all  costs  what  they  know. 

Agravaine 
Be  not  too  sure. 


14  GUENEVERE 

Gawain 

For  some  men  rather  would  be  sure  and  die 
Than  live  in  midst  of  doubtings.  Ah  how, 
How  if  this  cause  splits  brothers  thus,  will  all 
The  court  be  rent! 

Mordred 
Some  for  gain  — 

Gawain 
Aye,  you  will  reward  them,  brother. 

Mordred 
I  did  not  say  so. 

Agravaine 

Leave  wrangling,  they  are  at  hand. 

(Enter  knights,  Sir  Bors,  Sir  Uriens,  Sir  Tor,  and  others. 
All  wear  blank  shields.) 

Mordred 
Good  morrow,  fair  knights!     The  time  doth  press,  come, 

come, 

Ring  me  round  here,  and  let  me  speak  our  plan. 
Who  here  knows  not  the  shame  that  flares  at  court, 
Open  as  day?     Think  not  the  king  deceived; 
He  hath  a  deeming,  but  he  is  full  loth  to  speak, 
Seeing  how  ofttimes  Sir  Launcelot  hath  served 
The  king  and  the  queen  and  saved  their  worship. 
And  if  we  take  not  Launcelot  with  the  queen 
And  make  accusal,  you  know  the  accuser  must 
Prove't  on  Sir  Launcelot  himself;  the  which 
No  living  wight  hath  yet  done.     But  if 
We  take  him  — 

Meliagraunce 
But,  my  lord,  how  may  this  be  done  ? 

Mordred 

Peace,  and  I  will  tell  you.     This  day 
Is  the  queen's  maying,  and  even  now  she  rides 
To  woods  and  fields.     With  her  come  ten  of  the  Queen's 

Knights, 
Who  ride  thus  ever  near  to  her,  and  joust 


GUENEVERE  15 

For  her,  and  wear  no  manner  of  arms  but  hers. 
They  shall  be  dressed  in  green  and  white,  and  go 
Gathering  herbs  and  flowers  to  deck  themselves 
For  maying.     There'll  be  songs  — 

Meliagraunce 
Well  ? 

Mordred 

Well,  I  saw  them  start,  and  they  shall  come 
This  way,  and  we  will  take  them. 
(Confusion.) 

Nay,  nay,  stir  not,  nor  mutter  discontent, 
But  hear  me.     We  will  take  the  queen  and  hers 
To  my  castle  hard  by,  she  will  send  in  secret 
Unto  Sir  Launcelot  and  he  will  come. 

Meliagraunce 
Aye,  he  will  come,  mark  you  he  will  come! 

Mordred 

Aye,  he  will  come.     We'll  seem  to  yield,  then  take 
Him    later   with    the    queen.      The    king   himself   shall 
see  it. 

Agravaine 

Sir  Launcelot  will  come  to  rescue  her, 
The  king  shall  be  brought,  and  we  shall  catch  our  birds 
Together. 

Kay 

Here's  Cador  and  Breuse  linked  arm  in  arm,  and  drunk 
As  always.     'Tis  strange  they  lack  preferment 
At  court.     Now  sure  'twill  not  be  long  for  them, 
Such  worthlessness  could  never  fail  to  be 
Rewarded  by  the  state.     Sir  Breuse  hath  bound 
A  tavern  garland  on  his  brow,  and  look, 
Cador  hath  him  a  bread-cake  for  a  shield. 
(Enter  Cador  and  Breuse.) 

Cador 
Steady,  steady! 

Breuse 
Steady!     We  go  to  make  a  kingdom  now. 


16  GUENEVERE 

Cador 

Aye,  we  be  statesmen,  and  'twere  well  to  walk 
Straight. 

Breuse 
'Tis  a  hard  matter. 

Cador 
Keep  hold  on  me,  and  'twill  be  well. 

Kay 

Aye,  that's  politic.     Ho!  young  sops, 
What  is't  in  the  air  ? 

Breuse 
'Tis  a  new  king  I  scent,  methinks. 

Mordred 

We  have  no  time  for  them,  come,  come!     Doubt  not 
But  we  shall  catch  our  birds  together. 

Gawain 

Catch  them  together  —  how  ?     Think  you  the  queen 
Will  bide  an  hour  longer  than  need  be 
In  thy  black  walls  ? 

Mordred 

That  I  do.     Sir  Launcelot  hath  pained 
Himself  too  much  already  on  her  part, 
She  will  keep  low  to  'scape  the  scandal.     That, 
Or  we  can  hobble  up  her  knights  that  they 
Will  not  depart  so  speedily.     The  queen 
Will  not  desert  them  methinks. 

Gawain 
Scandal! 

Mordred 
Aye,  scandal,  'tis  the  eye  of  the  matter. 

Cador 
Scandal,  what  is  scandal  ? 

Kay 

'Tis  piety  with  a  bit  of  news  to  tell. 
A  fair  garland  thou  hast,  my  lord. 

Breuse 
To  keep  my  memory  green,  belike. 


GUENEVERE  17 

Kay 

The  fruit  of  the  vine  is  within,  is't  not  ?     A  gallant 
Shield  hast  thou,  Cador.     'Twill  keep  off  death. 

Cador 
Truly  it  may  be. 

Breuse 
Nay,  nay,  eat  not  thy  defence,  brave  lord.     Stand  up! 

Kay 

'Twere  more  avail  to  swallow  thy  spear,  methinks. 
'Twould  help  thee  stand. 

Breuse 
Art  thou  the  king,  Sir  Mordred,  yet  —  yet  ? 

Mordred 
Silence,  thou  muddled  fool.     Not  yet,  nor  ever! 

Breuse 

I  went  to  say  I  could  not  worship  thee. 
I  serve  the  fallen  angel  that  the  priest 
Told  me  of,  naming  him  not. 

Mordred 
Angel  ? 

Breuse 
Wine,   'tis   a   fallen   angel. 

Knight 
Keen-carved,  Sir  Garland. 

Kay 

Sure  one  would  listen  at  thine  ear  as  at 
A  sea-shell  for  the  empty  roaring. 

Mordred 

'Tis  no  time  for  such  chaffering.     Get  them  aside, 
Good  Sir  Kay,  stop  but  their  noise  and  I 
Were  much  beholden  to  you. 

Kay 

'Twould  merit  somewhat.     Come,  ye  princely  wits, 
Let  me  but  tell  my  latest  dream  —  'twas  that 
A  shower  of  wine  will  fall  this  Friday  next  — 

Cador 
Wine!     Haste  thee,  Breuse,  find  one  that  hath  a  moat 


i8  GUENEVERE 

To  sell.     Good  Sir  Kay,  tell  more! 

Kay 

Come  then  and  I  will  satisfy  you.     (They  go  to  the  left  of 
the  stage.) 

Gawain 
My  lords,  let  me  speak. 

Agravainc 

Nay,  hear  him  not,  my  lords,  for  he  had  rather 
Corruption  bred  and  rotted  at  the  court 
Than  he  should  stir  his  sluggish  feet  in  struggle. 

Knight 
Craven!     Fie! 

Second  Knight 
We'll  hear  Sir  Gawain. 

Cries 
Sir  Gawain!    Sir  Gawain!    Fie!    Craven!    Sir  Gawain! 

Gawain 

Hear  me  briefly.     My  lords,  it  is  a  grievous 
Thing  to  wreck  a  good  man's  fortune.     God 
Will  break  the  evil.     Therefore  have  we  no  need 
To    avenge    the     king.      That    Launcelot    is    false    ye 

know 

Not  yet,  but  know  if  he  be  found  so  what 
Will  fall  on  us.     Shipwreck  and  storm  and  split  - 
Arthur  is  king,  but  Launcelot  hath  lands, 
Hath  bournes  and  territories  of  huge  extent 
Here  in  this  island,  and  doth  own  a  realm 
In  Fraunce,  castles  and  followers.     Let  but 
Discord  raise  her  head  between  them  two. 
And  this  demesne  of  Britain  will  be  rent 
In  twain,  racked  and  overwhelmed;  the  fellowship 
Of  the  King's  Round  Table  broke,  the  noblest  face 
And  form  of  chivalry  be  felled  and  gutted 
In  a  civil  strife.     And  if  in  truth  — 

Agravaine 

Hurry,  man,  art  thou  old  Nestor  come 
Back  from  Hell,  and  windier  than  ever  ? 


GUENEVERE  19 

Mordred 

True,  brother.     Come  closer,  Sir  Knights,  and  ye 
Shall  see  the  better  justice  of  our   plans.     (They  with 
draw  to  left.) 

Kay  (on  the  right) 

Calm  thee,  calm  thee!     Spare  thy  words.     The  world 
Hath  deafened  itself  already  with  much  speech. 

Breuse  (mounts  a  rock) 
I'll  be  a  king,  have  I  not  a  crown  ? 

Kay 
But  little  in  it. 

Cador 

Brains  were  not  missed  in  a  king,  good  sir.     He  is 
My  friend. 

Breuse 

I  will  be  an  historical  king,  and  marry 
Me  three  wives. 

Cador 

Nay,  sweet  friend,  when  thou  art  king,  wed  not. 
King  married  is  not  king,  but  the  queen's  husband. 

Breuse 
Weep  not,  thou  mayst  serve  me. 

Kay 
Aye,  listen  yonder. 

Gawain 

If  Launcelot  doth  then  love  the  queen,  hath  he 
Not  championed  her  more  than  the  saintly  Arthur  ? 
If  still  ye  head  on  this  I  say  I  am 
Not  with  you,  and  depart. 

Bors 
Nor  will  I  hear  your  tales,  nor  share  your  counsels. 

Blamor 

Nor  I  be  traitor  'gainst  the  noblest  knight 
In  all  the  world. 

Mordred 
Wilt  thou  take  hence  that  two  ? 


20  GUENEVERE 

Gawain 

Glad  were  I.     When  they  be  sober  they 
Will  give  me  thanks. 

Kay 

Go,  Cador,  and  thou  Breuse,  this  man  hath  found 
A  fishpond  lately  dried.     'Twill  hold  thy  wine. 

Cador 

Come,  come,  good  Sir.     What  is't  to  Friday  ?     (Exeunt 
Gawain,  Breuse,  Cador,  Bors,  and  Blamor.) 

Agravaine 
They  are  like  some  fishes,  my  lord,  and  dread  the  light. 

Kay 
Let  Launcelot  and  the  queen  be  caught. 

Knight 

Ho!  Sir  Kay,  'tis  the  cream,  the  cake  of  solid 
Sense. 

Mordred 
Silence,  I  pray  you. 

Kay 

Have  I  not  told  the  king  to  tread  on  Earth  ? 
Answer  me  that. 

Agravaine 
Yea,  yea,  greybeard. 

Kay 

Once  Sir  Launcelot  changed  mail  with  me 
And  saved  me  at  a  venture.     Odds,  at  my 
Best  feasts  they  cannot  eat  for  love.     I  had  served 
Him  for  his  courtesy  —  leave  out  the  queen  — 
And  I  had  fed  him  fat  as  the  Duke  of  Dutchmen. 

Agravaine 

Rattle  your  keys,  Sir  Kay,  instead  of  your  tongue, 
Your  jams  are  sweeter  than  your  words. 

Kay 

Sweeter  for  thy  tongue  haply;  for  it 
Hath  tasted  of  more  jam  than  of  wise  words. 

Tor 
The  shame  burns  deep,  the  purging  of  the  court 


GUENEVERE  21 

Will  uplift  all  the  realm  and  bring  to  bloom 
Again  the  chaste  flower  of  the  earlier  days. 

Persaunt 

Nay,  I  dare  swear  my  lady's  purity.     Be  the  truth 
As  it  may,  shame  unto  a  man  that  speaks 
Shamefully  of  a  lady  and  a  queen. 

Agravaine 
You  wear  fresh  flowers,  youth,  but  they  will  fade. 

Cries 
I    am    against   this   thing.     Let   it    be   tried.    Cowards! 

And  I! 
(Confusion,  and  taking  of  sides.) 

Mordred 

Thus  is  the  whole  court  rent  to  many  minds, 
The  venture  is  dangerous. 

Agravaine 

Nay,  speak  to  them  with  that  tongue  of  thine  and  they 
Will  follow  - 

Mordred 

Fair  lords,  young  knights  full  of  the  noble  fire 
Of  youth,  put  up  your  swords,  hear  me! 
(Contusion.) 

Knights 
Sir  Mordred!      Fie!  Cowards!      Sir  Mordred! 

Mordred 

My  lords,  none  of  us  would  the  queen  took  hurt 
From  this  we  go  to  do.     Think  ye  not  so. 
The  thing  is  this,  doubt  like  a  hidden  mould 
Eats  up  the  peace  of  the  court  —  sure  the  thing 
Touches  us  all  equally.     Certain 
Evil  would  I  rather  choose  than  blank 
Uncertainty. 

Knight 
And  after  she  is  ta'en,  my  lord,  what  then  ? 

Mordred 

Then  I  will  feign  hot  love  for  her,  and  threaten 
Masteries.     Sir  Launcelot  will  come 


22  GUENEVERE 

And  we  shall  see  what  door  the  wind  blows  in. 
(There  is  the  sound  of  talk  and  laughter.} 

Agravaine 
They  come. 

Mordred 
'Tis  too  late  but  to  prove  the  thing  as  planned. 

Persaunt 
Would  I  had  kept  out  of  this. 

Kay 

Too  late  for  temperance  after  the  lips  are  wet. 
(Exeunt  ally  hiding  themselves  behind  rocks  and  trees  to  the 
left.     Enter  the  queen  with  twelve  knights  and  three 
ladies,  all  in  green  and  white ,  wearing  wreaths  and 
bearing  garlands  of  -flowers.) 
Guenevere 

But  leave,  good  sirs,  this  hunting  talk 
Of  falcons,  jesses,  leash  and  lure,  there's  love, 
We  have  not  spoke  of  that,  and  it  is  May. 
Sing,  my  lord,  one  of  the  songs  you  learned 
In  your  knave  service  at  the  court. 

Gareth 

'Tis  but  a  kitchen  song,  my  lady,  sung 
By  humble  wenches  at  ring-time. 

Guenevere 

Sir  Knight,  if  thou  wert  armed,  I'd  send  thee  back 
To  bring  me  water  in  thy  helmet  all 
This  way,  as  penance  for  thy  dulness. 
Cannot  the  humblest  woman  sing  her  love, 
My  lord  ?     Love  maketh  any  woman  as 
A  queen,  I  pray  you  sing. 
Gareth  (sings) 

The  white-thorn   blossoms   blow, 
And  sweet  buttercups  in  the  grass, 
Go  woo,  my  lad,  go  wooing! 
In  winter  frosts  the  blood  is  slow, 
But  lusty  May  makes  every  lass 
Come  smiling  to  your  wooing. 


GUENEVERE  23 

Weave  mangolds  within  your  hair, 

Go  woo,  my  lad,  go  wooing, 

For  spring  makes  all  the  lasses  fair 

And  ready  for  your  wooing! 
Guenevere 

'Tis  a  fair  chaunt.     Sweet  season  hath  ever  sweet  song. 
Lo!  there  a  little  woodland  pool,  rimmed  round 
With  crocuses,  and  tangled  water-flags, 
Here  shepherd's  purse  and  vetch  and  meadow-sweet  - 
See  how  the  blue  sky  lieth  in  it  —  come  — 
And  now  a  cloud  sails  by.     This  is  the  time 
When  maids  may  learn  what  manner  of  fortune  waiteth 
Them,  and  who  their  knights  haply  may  be. 
Therefore  Lyone  and  Enid  and  Ygraine, 
Bide  with  me  here.     And  ye,  Sir  Knights,  shall  leave 
Us  and  go  on  a  little  space  ahead, 
And  one  by  one  each  maid  shall  search  the  pond 
For  her  fate's  image. 

Lyone 
Thou  too  wilt  read  thy  glass,  wilt  thou  not,  my  lady  ? 

Guenevere 

Nay,  nay,  I  am  an  aged  dame,  and  all 
My  ships  are  in  already.     Seest  thou  not 
The  furrows  in  my  picture  there  ? 

Lyone 

'Tis  but  the  ripple  from  the  rushes  breaks 
Thy  feature,  else  'twere  fair  as  the  flowers  mirrored 
Near  the  marge. 

Guenevere 

Ah,  flatter  me  not,  child,  'tis  youth  alone 
Hath  still  its  bright  sails  growing  on  the  horizon's 
Verge,  flocking  like  gulls,  the  crafts  of  hope. 
Now  do  ye  listen  to  this  play  of  fortunes. 
Sir  Knights,  ye  shall  go  on,  nor  dare  look  back, 
And  when  that  ye  are  gone,  one  of  these  maids  — 
But  ye  must  know  not  which  —  shall  watch  her  here 
In  the  water  for  her  true  love's  face  to  look 


24  GUENEVERE 

Over  her  shoulder.     Meanwhile  ye   shall 

Draw  lots  to  find  which  knight  returns.     'Tis  he, 

By  the  faith  of  this  blue  pond,  shall  be  her  lord. 

Garetb 
Go  now,  my  lady  ? 

Guenevere 

Yea,  but  go  not  too  far.     And  he  that  wins, 
If  he  be  wise,  will  hasten  back 
To  meet  the  fair  eyes  laughing  in  the  pool 

(Exeunt  knights  to  left.) 
I  will  take  me  three  petals  thus  and  tear 
In  one  a  rent  —  thou  seest  —  and  ye  shall  choose 
One  each,  and  she  that  holdeth  the  torn  leaf- 
Wit  ye  'tis  the  pierced  heart  —  'tis  she  shall  watch 
First   in  the   pool.     Choose  quickly.     (They  choose.) 
Ah,  Lyone  le  Blanche,  my  lily  maid, 
'Tis  thou;  then  kneel  thee  here,  one  comes. 
Child,   thy   fair   hair   mingles    its    pale   gold    with    the 

crocus 

Flowers,  and  is  as  fair  as  they.     Hist! 
(Enter   Sir   Colgrevaunce.     He   comes   and  looks    in    the 
pool.} 

Lyone 
Sir  Colgrevaunce! 

Colgrevaunce 
Lyone! 

Guenevere 

Fie,  fie,  Lyone,  thy  cheeks  are  flame,  and  thine, 
Sir  Knight! 

Colgrevaunce 
'Tis  but  the  stooping. 

Guenevere 

Ah  nay,  now  I  do  swear  these  eyes  have  met 
For  love  ere  this.     'Tis  a  pretty  jest  to  bribe 
Beforehand  Mother  Fortune  thus.     Ye  shall  plight 
Your  troth  with  rush-rings  from  this  friendly  bank. 
Go  now,  my  lord,  send  others  to  assay. 


GUENEVERE  25 

Colgrevaunce 
God  send  another  such  good  grace  as  mine. 

Guenevere 

Now,  Enid  and  Ygraine,  choose  ye  from  these 
Two  petals,  as  but  now  ye  chose.  Who  has't  ? 
'Tis  thou,  Ygraine  ?  Then  kneel.  (Ygraine  kneels.) 

Y grain e 

Ah,  Jesu,  keep  me,  my  lady,  some  reptile  stirs 
The  slime  beneath  and  muddies  the  whole  pool. 
'Tis  an  ill  omen,  I  will  not  read  my  lot 
To-day.     (Rises.) 

Enid 
Nor  I.     See,  all  is  foul,  'tis  an  ill  omen. 

Guenevere 

Think  you  ?     I  will  not  say  these  signs  are  true 
Or  false,  seeing  we  know  not  what  be  hid 
From  the  eye  of  man.     Yet  I  like  it  not. 

Y  grain e 
Still  it  muddies,  I  will  not  look! 

Guenevere 

Then  let  us  leave  it  and  go  on.     (They  start  out  to  the 
left.) 

Enid 

What  noise  was  that,  the  sound  of  bosses  clanking 
On  armed  heel  ? 

(Enter  Mordred  and  the  knights.     The  latter  have  their 
visors  down.) 

Mordred 
Good  morrow,  madam. 

Guenevere 

My  lord,  you  know  this  is  the  first  of  May, 
Wrhen    men's    souls     like    the    white    clouds     float     in 

dreams. 

What  means  this  froward  battlement  of  steel 
At  such  a  time  ?     Out  of  my  way,  I  like  it  not. 
(The  Queen's  Knights  have  come  up  on  the  left;  commotion 
off  the  stage   in   that  direction.) 


26  GUENEVERE 

Guenevere 

Hold  yet,  my  knights,  'tis  useless,  ye  have  no  shields. 
If  my  lord  Arthur  or  Sir  Launcelot 
They,  if  they  were  here,  would  teach  thee  how 
To  budge,  thou  caitiff  Mordred. 

Mordred 

Aye,  but  our  lord  Arthur  is  not  here, 
Nor  thy  Sir  Launcelot.     If  either  were, 
Who  knows  what  he  would  do  ?     So  I  will  speak. 

Guenevere 
Speak  then  and  go. 

Mordred 

Hear  then  and  stay.     'Tis  long  that  I  have  loved  thee. 
And  passing  well,  and  have  long  eyed  my  time. 
This  day  I  have  thee,  and  thou  leavst  me  not 
Till  thou  dost  love  with  me,  or  I  and  all 
These  my  men-at-arms  be  dead.     Come 
To  my  castle  near,  come  willingly,  for  come 
Thou  shalt,  whether  thou  wilt  or  no. 

Guenevere 
Hast  spoken  ? 

Mordred 
Aye,  madame,  for  the  nonce. 

Guenevere 

Then  this  is  my  answer.     Your  love  and  you  I  spurn 
Out  of  my  path  like  offal.     Know,  Sir  Mordred, 
I  had  liefer  cut  my  throat  in  twain 
Than  love  with  you.     Who  these  be,  for  there 
Are  knights  among  your  menials  here,  what  men 
Of  my  lord's  these  be,  that  lend  their  hands  to  you 
And   do   preserve  this  vile   incognito, 
I  know  not,  but  what  they  be  I  know, 
Vile  dust  to  which  your  spittle  gives  a  mould 
And  shape,  without  it,  formless  atoms. 

Mordred 

Slow,  madam,  slow,  your  hot  words  cannot  sink 
In  my  cold  ears. 


GUENEVERE  27 

(Off  the  stage  to  the  left,  the  Queen's  Knights  break  nearer 
through  the  ranks  of  Mordred' s   men.) 

Colgrevaunce 
Ho,  we  come,  my  lady! 

Mordred 
Back,  puppets. 

Gareth 
Way  there,  cowards! 

Guenevere 
Nay,  nay,  ye  are  not  armed! 

Peleas 

Whether  we  die  or  not  we  care  not,  so 
We  keep  thee  safe. 

Colgrevaunce 
We  care  not!     On,  on! 
(Confusion  increases  off  the  stage  to  the  left.) 

Guenevere  (aside  to  Dagonet) 
Go  boy,  go  Dagonet,  go,  take  this  ring, 
Watch  thy  chance  and  go.     Give  to  Sir  Launcelot 
This  ring,  and  pray  if  he  would  ever  see 
My  face  again,  to  come  and  succour  me 
From  shame.     Go,  spare  not  thyself! 

Lyone 
O  Jesu  in  heaven,  help  thy  knights! 

Guenevere 
Stay,  stay  your  blows! 

Mordred 
Stay  your  blows. 

Persaunt 
Stay  your  blows,  fools! 

Guenevere 

The  most  valiant  are  as  chaff  before  armed  baseness. 
And  this  I  know,  good  men  have  naught  to  fear 
Save  only  cowards.     Therefore,  Sir  Mordred,  slay  not 
My  knights.     I  will  go  with  you  if  you  hurt 
Them  not,  and  bring  them  to  my  prison, 
For  I  will  slay  myself  if  they  be  not 


28  GUENEVERE 

In  presence  while  I  am  with  you. 

Mordred 

For  your  sake,  madam,  it  shall  be  done.     But  where 
Is  Dagonet,  the  page  ?     Nay,  madam,  you 
Have  played  me  false.     Give  the  boy  chase,  you  two, 
(Aside}  But  do  not  stop  him.     Let  there  be  litters 
Made,  and  bring  these  wounded  after  us. 
(The  queen  and  her  ladies  go  out  with  Sir  Mordred  and 
his  party.     The  wounded  knights  are  borne  on  litters 
made  from   the  shields   and  spears.     Sir  Agravaine 
remains.     Enter  Sir  Kay.) 

Kay 
Come  you  not  with  us,  my  lord  ?     We  wait. 

A gravaine 
No,  I  will  bide  if  haply  the  page  returns  here. 

Kay 

How  will  it  end  ?     Think  you  Sir  Launcelot 
Will  come  ? 

Agravaine 
Think  you   'twill  ever  rain  again  ? 

Kay 

There'll  be  wild  deeds  to  follow  this  day's  work, 
Sure  man's  devilry  doth  pass  the  devil; 
And  thy  brother  hath  outdevilled  Hell.     I'll  no 
More  o't,  but  get  me  home. 

Agravaine 

Go  plan  a  feast,  'tis  suited  to  thy  wits 
Some  better  than  these  plotted  policies. 

Kay 

Belike  'twere  better  for  thee  too.     The  realm 
Were  safer  then.     And  sure  thy  brains  and  belly 
Are  all  one.     (Exit  Kay.) 

Agravaine 

Sour  but  sharp  likewise.     'Tis  no  noodle  head. 
(Enter  Dagonet  running.) 

Dagonet 
Gone,  oh,  my  lady! 


GUENEVERE  29 

Agravaine 

Stop  your  whimpers,  cub,  have  you  found  him  ? 
Speak,  fool! 

Dagonet 

Yea,  my  lord,  at  the  edge  of  the  wood,  he  had 
Already  got  word  of  mischief  to  the  queen. 
And  hither  gat  him  armed. 

Agravaine 
He  comes  ? 

Dagonet 

Close  behind,  my  lord,  there!  there's  his  breastplate 
Flashed  through  the  trees  —  there!  my  lord. 

Agravaine 
Ha,  ha,  the  broth  thickens,  come,  come,  shag-head. 

Dagonet 

There,  my  lord! 
(To  the  right  is  beard  the  sound  of  a  galloping  horse.) 


ACT  II 

A  day  later.  One  of  the  chambers  in  Sir  Mordred's 
castle.  The  wounded  knights  lie  in  the  adjoining  room 
to  the  left.  On  the  right  is  a  window  with  bars.  A 
fight  of  steps  outside  leads  up  to  the  door  at  the  back. 
The  room  has  a  canopied  bed,  tapestries,  and  armorial 
ornaments.  Below  is  the  sound  of  hammering.  Dag 
onet  sits  by  the  window.  Sir  Colgrevaunce  stands  by 
the  window. 
Colgrevaunce 

Dagonet,  what  means  that  knocking  ? 
Dagonet 

They  mend  what  wreck  Sir  Launcelot  wrought. 
Colgrevaunce 

On  yesterday  ? 
Dagonet 

Yesterday,  my  lord,  when  he  came  here 


30  GUENEVERE 

To  succour  my  lady.     In  he  rode  and  smote 
Thrice  with  his  spear,  and  the  hinges  groaned. 
And  he  smote  down  the  door,  and  stoutly  thrang 
Amid  the  press,  hewing  about  from  right 
To  left,  until  Sir  Mordred  came  and  yielded 
Him  in  terror,  and  granted  the  queen's  release. 

Colgrevaunce 
You  saw  it,  boy  ? 

Dagonet 

Yea,  did  I.     Some  day  may  Jesu  grant 
That  I  may  be  a  man,  even  such  a  knight 
As  our  Sir  Launcelot,  and  serve  some  lady 
Like  the  queen. 

Colgrevaunce 

The  lad  dreams.     Right,  thou  art  in  the  orient 
Of  life,  and  at  that  hour  the  daylight's  hue 
Is  golden. 

Dagonet 
I  do  not  know  all  thou  sayst,  my  lord. 

Colgrevaunce 

But  why  lingers  the  queen  here  ?     To  still 
The  shame  maybe.     Let  her  then  tell, 
She  cometh  now  ? 

Dagonet 
Not  yet,  my  lord. 

Colgrevaunce 

Haply  she  will  tell  us  when  she  comes. 
Hither,  boy,  and  tell  us  more  of  this 
Late  prowess  of  Sir  Launcelot's.     Shut  to 
The  door,  the  wind  from  yonder  casement  blows 
Too  much  over  the  floor  here. 

(Exeunt  Dagonet  and  Sir  Colgrevaunce.  Enter  Sir  Mor 
dred.  He  makes  a  circuit  of  the  room,  and  examines 
the  bars  of  the  window.} 

Mordred 

I'll  seem  to  hesitate.     'Twill  make  him  like 
A  goaded  horse  by  mad  leaps  lead  himself 


GUENEVERE  31 

To  mishap  —  there's  jealous  prying  for  you. 
Yea,  my  lord,  the  chamber  is  vacant,  come. 
Too  fast  intent  to  hear.     'Tis  sport  to  watch 
This  greatness  with  its  single  view  and  aim, 
And  keen  half-sight,  steer  for  its  end,  all  blind 
To  the  rest.     My  lord,  'tis  vacant  here.     Come! 
(Enter  King  Arthur.} 

The  queen  is  in  the  courtyard  with  the  hounds 
And  falcons,  the  birds'  flight  seems  to  charm  her. 

Arthur 

'Tis  fair  without,  and  yet  methinks  the  air 
Hath  lost  the  nipping  flame  that  spurs  the  blood. 
'Tis  stale  and  heavy.     I  like  not  the  red 
Streak  in  the  west,  nor  the  dun  mound  over  it. 
Knows    naught,    poor    wretch,    of    what    draws     over 

her. 

'Tis  a  poor,  weary,  foolish  world  where  we 
Blow  in  like  wind,  ruled  by  dark  outer  forces, 
That  floods  the  hollows  and  low  places  here 
On  our  globe,  and  lo!  is  gone  again. 

Mordred 
Nay,  nay,  my  lord,  naught  ever  came  of  dreaming. 

Arthur 

Sir  Mordred  I  repent  that  ever  I 
Did  lend  mine  ear  to  this.     A  grievous  hurt 
To  me  and  mine  will  fall  of  it  if  she 
Be  false.     If  she  is  not,  then  all  this  shame 
Were  undeserved  of  her. 

Mordred 
Then  give  it  up,  my  lord. 

Arthur 

Nay,  we  have  gone  too  far  now  to  draw  back, 
Yet  I  do  repent  me.     You  were 
Too  forward  in  it. 

Mordred 

It  was  not  I,  my  lord,  but  those  behind 
That  pushed  me  on  as  kinsman  to  yourself, 


32  GUENEVERE 

Saying  the  court  reeked  with  the  stench  of  the  queen's 
falseness. 

Arthur 
There's  foulness  in  thy  words,  I  like  it  not. 

Mordred 

'Twere  best  forgotten  all.     Why  should  we  credit 
Vile  slander.     Thou  knowest  — 

Arthur 

I  had  some  warning  of  this  same  thing  once 
From  Merlin,  the  wizard,  long  before  I  took 
The  daughter  of  Leodograunce  to  wife. 
But  when  I  saw  her  I  (Jid  heed  him  not. 
Still,  whether  she  be  false  or  true,  I  will 
Not  swear.     To  me  she  hath  been  ever  fair 
And  gentle,  and  to  my  knights  and  to  all  ladies, 
A  queen  among  women  and  a  woman  among 
Queens.     And  that  Sir  Launcelot  loves  her 
I  dare  say.     He  hath  succoured  her  from  danger, 
As  when  — 

Mordred 
But  she,  my  lord,  loves  she  him  ? 

Arthur 
Whether  she  loveth  him  I  will  not  say — 

Mordred 

Thou  wilt  not  say.     Men  say  that  thou  striv'st  not 
For  certainty,  loving  the  peace  of  thy  court 
More  than  thy  wife  and  honour. 

Arthur 

Thou  boldest  well  the  evil  said  of  me. 
Whether  she  loveth  him  or  not  I  will 
Not  say.     God  hath  given  him  fair  seemliness 
Of  form,  and  hardiness  to  work  so  largely 
That  he  hath  had  always  the  better  in  combat. 
And  she  hath  a  heart  passionate  and  wild, 
But  yet  her  soul  beats  high  — 

Mordred 
Nathless  ere  this  have  men  said  that  they  took 


GUENEVERE  33 

Long  draughts  of  love  together. 

Arthur 

Her  lofty  soul  yearns  toward  the  heights,  she  fain 
Would  keep  the  purity  of  the  court, 
And  love  Sir  Launcelot  as  soul  loves  soul, 
But  then  her  eye  takes  fire  at  sight  of  him, 
Her  veins  surge  hot  with  the  glory,  colour,  pomp, 
And  beauty  of  this  world,  —  the  mortal  strife 
'Twixt  flesh  and  spirit,  which  hath  won  I  know  not. 

Mordred 

My  lord,  I  speak,  methinks,  as  should  become 
Your  nephew,  and  I  am  but  an  unwilling 
Mouthpiece  of  mine  ears. 

Arthur 
It  is  an  old  lie. 

Mordred 

Yea,  my  lord,  an  old  lie,  and  I 
Do  doubt  it  altogether. 

Arthur 
It  is  a  lie. 

Mordred 
Yet  there  be  whispers  in  the  court. 

Arthur 

And  'twould  be  well  to  prove  it  false. 
What  whispers  ? 

Mordred 

About  Sir  Launcelot  and  the  queen,  my  lord. 
Men  say  that  when  Sir  Launcelot  departs, 
She  in  her  secret  bosom  writhes  and  welters 
Like  a  mad  woman,  though  she  give  no  sign 
Outwardly  to  men. 

Arthur 
She  is  the  queen. 

Mordred 

Aye,  my  lord,  and  bears  it  with  a  proud 
Countenance,  as  though  she  felt  no  fears 
Of  her  love,  nor  scented  her  own  peril. 


34  GUENEVERE 

Arthur 
She  is  the  queen. 

Mordred 
Only  last  night,  but  'tis  a  lie  — 

Arthur 
What  is  a  lie  ? 

Mordred 

My  lord,  it  is  a  lie  I  blush  to  tell. 
Some  caitiff  swore  Sir  Launcelot  to  have  come 
Here  to  the  queen,  even  last  night. 

.Arthur 
Came  here?     God's  life! 

Mordred 

Be  calm,  my  lord,  my  men  slept  'fore  the  door, 
He  could  not  enter  there,  nor  by  yon  threshold 
Where  the  knights  sleep.     There  is  no  place 
Save  the  window  here  and  that  is  barred. 
And- 

Arthur 
Why  did  you  start,  when  your  hand  touched  the  bar  ? 

Mordred 
Did  I  start,  my  lord  ? 

Arthur 

Aye,  and  broke  off  your  speech.     Why  do  you  hold 
The  bar  as  if  you  fear  to  fall  ? 

Mordred 
Hold  the  bar,  my  lord  ? 

Arthur 
You  trifle  with  me,  dog,  playing  parrot  thus! 

Mordred 

Put  up  your  sword,  wild  man.     I  would  save  you 
Even  at  this  last  moment.     Some  hand 
Hath  torn  the  bar  out  of  its  place,  and  all 
Its  fellows  likewise  have  been  set  loosely 
In  notch  again. 

Arthur 
My  brain  scorches.     Let  me  but  wait  with  thee, 


GUENEVERE  35 

Good  Mordred,  till  the  end. 

Mordred 

Come,  we  cannot  wait  here. 
(Mordred  takes  down  the  torch.     Exeunt.      The  chamber 

is  dark.} 

(The  door  from  the  knights'  chamber  opens,  and  the  light 
streams  into  the  room.  Guenevere  stands  at  the  door. 
Lyone,  Enid,  and  Tgratne  are  with  her.  Dagonet 
carries  a  lighted  lamp  and  a  torch.  The  ladies  have 
their  lamps  still  unlit.  Sir  Colgrevaunce  follows 
them  in,  and  stands  near  the  door.) 
Colgrevaunce 

My  lady,  I  do  speak  for  them  that  here 
Lie  weary  past  all  standing  with  their  wounds. 
We  ask  why  stayest  thou  here  within  these  walls  ? 
They  slime  with  falseness. 

Guenevere 

Well  may  you  know  that  'tis  not  any  love 
For  this  foul  place  that  keeps  me  here,  'tis  dread 
Lest  word  of  this  should  come  to  the  king  and  new 
Strife  rise,  now  through  me.     This  poor  realm  is 
Already  like  to  flame  a  holocaust 
From  courtly  feuds  and  smouldering  ashes,  dull 
And  waiting  to  be  stirred,  kindred  hates 
And  new-old  grudges.     Pray  God  none  come 
By  me.     Therefore  when  you  are  come  with  me 
To  Camelot  and  the  court,  speak  not  of  this 
Black,  treacherous  deed,  but  'scape  the  noise  and  scandal. 
Three  days  let  us  bide  here  as  if  we  came 
By  chance  into  this  castle  of  Sir  Mordred's, 
Where  entertainment  proffered  pleased  us  so 
That  we  must  needs  remain  to  bask  in  it. 
Meantime  the  hours  will  pass  — 
Knight  {in  chamber  to  the  left) 
Nay,  we  shall  be  shamed,  they  are  traitors  all. 

Colgrevaunce 
Nay,  the  queen  hath  judged  aright,  'tis  well. 


36  GUENEVERE 

Let  Mordred  sour  now,  uneasy,  crafty, 

Brewing  discontent,  better  this  cloak 

To  hide  his  guilt  than  some  new  war  in  Britain. 

Guenevere 

Here  too  my  knights  lie  wounded  in  my  cause, 
Think  you  I  will  forsake  them  thus  ?  Not  so, 
But  I  will  take  them  with  me  hence  to-morrow 
If  they  be  strong  enough.  If  not  I  bide. 

Knight  (in  chamber) 

'Tis  half  the  world's  mishap  lies  in  that  word 
To-morrow. 

Guenevere 

Ye  lack  nothing,  fair  knights  ?     Then  sweet  sleep 
Visit  your  eyelids  all  the  night  long.     God 
Gave  sleep  for  brave  men. 

Knights  (in  room) 
Jesu  keep  thee,  my  lady. 

Colgrevaunce 

They  are  already  half  asleep,  my  lady, 
And  my  brain  muddles  strangely  since  I  supped. 
Here  within  is  the  tankard  we  drank  from  — 
It  was  a  sleepy  draught.     Think  you  'twas  drugged  ? 

Guenevere 
I  know  not.     Wherefore  ? 

Colgrevaunce 

Mine  eyes  are  lead  —  aye  me,  my  heart  is  heavier 
With  some  foreboding.     'Tis  foolish  surely, 
But  I  do  feel  that  if  I  sleep  I  shall 
Not  waken. 

Guenevere 

'Tis  but  the  wound  in  thy  arm.     Set  down  the  cup. 
Good  night. 

Colgrevaunce 

Good  night.     God  keep  thee,  my  lady,  good  night. 
(Exit.) 

Guenevere 
'Tis  a  strange  drowsiness,  would  God  I  had  it. 


GUENEVERE  37 

Lyone. 
I   have  it  not  either. 

Guenevere 

Ygraine  and  Enid,  ye  have  weaned  much 
This  day,  and  thirst  for  the  sweet  mead  of  dreams 
In  the  cup  of  sleep.     Lyone  le  Blanche,  my  fair 
Lyone,  thy  head  hath  need  of  resting-place, 
Though  thou   know'st  it   not.     For  love   in  the   heart 

beguileth 
Like  the  sea-air. 

Lyone 
Nay,  madam  - 

Guenevere 

Ah,  tell  me  not,  have  I  not  loved  ?     Now  do 
Thou  kiss  me  here  on  my  brow,  for  I  have  strange 
Shadows  on  my  soul  to-night,  and  I 
Have  need  of  woman's  love.     Wherefore  I  know  not, 
But  my  heart  is  sad. 

(The  three  ladies  light  their  lamps  at  hers,  and  kiss  her 
forehead  as  they  go  out.} 

Enid 
Good  night,  and  a  long  sweet  sleep  to  thee. 

Ygraine 
Good  night,  and  the  honey  of  dreams  to  thee,  my  lady. 

Lyone 

Nay,  I  protest,  though  I  do  love 
I  fain  would  stay  with  thee,  my  lady.     I  have 
No  need  of  sleep. 

Guenevere 

Ah,  nay,  go  to  thy  pillow,  child.     There,  there, 
I  kiss  dear  rest  upon  thy  brow.     Do  I 
Not  know,  have  I  not  loved  ?     (Exit  Lyone.) 
God,  have  I  not  loved! 

Dagonet 
What  hast  thou  done,  my  lady  ? 

Guenevere 
'Tis  nothing.     Smother  those  sconces,  Dagonet. 


38  GUENEVERE 

(He  puts  out  torches  by  the  window.) 

Da  go  net 

How  beautiful  thou  art,  my  lady,  thou 
Art  like  the  meadows. 

Guenevere 
Like  the  meadows  —  how,  child  ? 

Dagonet 

Why,  now  'tis  summer  in  the  meadows,  so 
For  thee  it  is  the  summer  of  thy  beauty. 
Beauty  hath  her  seasons  like  the  air, 
Hath  she  not,  my  lady  ? 

Guenevere 
Haply. 

Dagonet 
Her  spring  and  summer  and  autumn  - 

Guenevere 
And  winter.     True,  very  true!     Boy,  canst  thou  sing  r 

Dagonet 

'Twill  be  sung  badly,  for  I  am  not  gay 
To-night.     Art  thou  too  sad,  my  lady,  yea, 
Thou'st  said  it.     Last  night  I  could  not  sleep, 
And  while  I  tossed  in  wakefulness  I  heard 
Knights  clatter  in  their  sleep;  one  leapt  out 
Of  bed,  one  dreamed  he  grasped  a  naked  sword. 
It  bodes  no  good,  my  lady.     And  this  eve 
At  dusk  I  saw  big  knights  in  the  outer  courtyard 
Polishing  their  mail,  and  all  the  squires 
Busily  set.     What  doth  it  mean,  my  lady  ? 
It  bodes  no  good. 

Guenevere 

Ask  me  not,  boy.     Take  down  thy  harp 
And  sing.     Not  loudly,  'tis  late.     Rouse  not 
The  happy,  happy  souls  that  can  lie  down 
And  sleep.     (Aside.)     If  I  were  with  him  always,*were 
It  well  ?     Nay,  passion  feedeth  on  itself, 
'Tis  mastery  of  self  that  bringeth  water 
For  the  old  stain. 


GUENEVERE  39 

Dagonet  (by  the  window,  sings} 

Look  out,  my  lady  fair,  and  see 

The  lustre  of  the  night, 

The  moon  beneath  her  canopy 

Sails  beauteous  and  bright, 

The  hawthorn  bough  swings  to  and  fro, 

The  nightingale  sings  low,  sings  low, 

Look  out,  my  lady  fair! 

Look  out,  my  lady  fair,  — 

Some  cloud  eats  up  the  moon,  I  cannot  sing. 
See  how  the  shadows  grow,  and  now  the  wind 
Gins  rise.     Dost  hearken  ? 

Guenevere 

Thou'rt  fanciful.     Stir  some  low  murmuring  sound 
Among  thy  strings,  to  bear  thy  song  to  me 
Like  distant  burthen  on  an  evening  wind. 
'Tis  well  —  now  come  the  gentle  syllables 
Slipping  like  pearls  upon  the  lovely  thread. 

Dagonet  (sings) 

Lean  out,  my  lady  fair,  and  hear 
The  twitter  of  my  lute  that  wings 
My  heart  to  thee  — 

Madam,  I  hear  noises  'neath  the  window, 
Rattle  of  pebbles  and  scratching  'gainst  the  walls. 

Guenevere 

It  was  some  bed-sore  knight  in  yonder  room 
Turning  to  rest  him.     Thou  art  sleepy,  go, 
Nay,  go,  good  night. 

Dagonet 

God  keep  thee  well,  and  make  thee  a  good  night, 
My  lady. 
(Exit  Dagonet.     Guenevere  draws  the  bolt  after  him,  and 

fastens  other  door.) 
(Enter  Sir  Launcelot  at  the  window.} 


40  GUENEVERE 

Launcelot 

On  yesternight  to  show  my  love  for  thee 
I  tore  out  of  their  sockets  these  iron  bones, 
Strove  with  might  to  show  my  love. 

Guenevere 

Ah,  my  beloved,  I  have  set  thee  as 
A  seal  upon  my  heart,  as  a  signet  ring 
Upon  mine  heart  have  I  set  thee. 
But  yet,  Sir  Launcelot,  my  blood  is  heavy 
With  misgiving. 

Launcelot 

And  mine.     I  know  not  wherefore  I  am  racked 
With  dread.     But  now  I  did  see  black  shapes  hurtle 
Thick  upon  the  gust;  the  wind  doth  reek 
With  pests  and  fevers,  rank  and  rotten  fogs 
Come  from  the  sloughs.     This  stinking  of  the  air 
Liketh  me  not.     The  stars  are  stubborn,  all 
This  darkness  here  is  much  too  thick. 

Guenevere. 

'Tis  so.     But  now  the  moon  shined  clear,  now  she 
Is  gone.     The  morbid  air  doth  suck  up  humours 
From  the  glens,  a  death-sweet  perfume  that 
But  half  doth  please  me.     The  heaven  is  silent, 
And  round  the  world  the  mantle  of  the  dusk 
Cloaks  heavily.     What  noise  was  that  ? 

Launcelot 
It  was  the  clock  at  the  postern  gate  that  smote. 

Guenevere 
What  hour,  didst  thou  take  count  ? 

Launcelot 
Eleven,  my  lady. 

Guenevere 
Think  you  it  a  lucky  hour  ? 

Launcelot 
Nay,  I  know  not,  but  I  - 

Guenevere 
My  lord  Sir  Launcelot,  it  was  a  hapless 


GUENEVERE  41 

Hour  that  ever  we  twain  met  together. 

I  'member  me  the  day  thou  first  didst  come 

To  Camelot  and  the  jousts.     Ah,  we  were  young  — 

Launcelot 

And  I  did  lack  my  sword  and  would  have  been  shamed 
Hadst  thou  not  brought  it  to  me  wrapped  in  thy  robe. 

Guenevere 
And  I  did  see  thee  fight  so  strong  and  seemly. 

Launcelot 

And  I  saw  thee,  Queen  Guenevere,  saw  thee, 
Fairest  among  all  women  and  all  queens. 
And  then  as  the  rising  moon  looms  like  a  white 
Fire  from  the  world's  edge,  flaming  into  heaven, 
So  burned  up  love  through  all  my  veins. 

Guenevere 

And  as  the  streams  of  Araby  do  nurse 
The  myrtle  flower,  and  the  wind  and  the  rain  lead  up 
Till  it  bursts  with  prisoned  sweetness,  so  hath  love 
Opened  my  heart.     And  yet  to-night  have  I 
Fears  lest  no  good  will  come  of  it. 
How  often  have  we  made  our  promises, 
Made  prayers  to  the  cross  that  never  more  we  fall 
In  deadly  sin  —  Alas,  Sir  Launcelot, 
An  'twere  not  for  this  earthly  taint,  thou  hadst 
Succeeded  in  the  quest. 
(The  sound  of  wind  and  distant  thunder  without.} 

Launcelot 

Yea,  madam,  I  had  seen  the  Sangreal 
But  for  this  stain  to  blot  it  from  mine  eyes. 
Once  I  saw  a  great  clearness  in  a  chamber, 
And  in  the  midst  a  silver  table  held, 
Covered  with  red  samite  from  my  sight, 
The  cup  that  bore  the  blessed  blood  of  God, 
With  many  angels  singing  nigh.     And  then 
The  holy  vessel  of  the  Sangreal  passed, 
And  the  fire  smote  me  in  the  visage  that 
I  might  not  see,  but  only  stand,  my  poor 


42  GUENEVERE 

Eyes  hungering,  my  nostrils  filled  with  the  sweet 
Savour  round.     For  never  did  I  battle 
For  God's  sake,  but  only  to  win  worship 
Or  be  better  loved  of  thee. 

Guenevere 
Many  a  night  — 

(^Thunder.     Guenevere  goes   to   the  window.} 
The  aspect  of  the  heavens  groweth  perilous. 

Launcelot 

How  sweet  is  hearth  and  fellowship  on  such 
A  night.     Together  — 

Guenevere 

Aye,  frightened  children  cowering  with  dread. 
Hark  to  the  bellowing  elements!     Methinks 
'Tis  all  the  wrath  of  the  world  met  here  to-night. 
Look  how  the  wind  heaves  darkness  past  the  window! 

Launcelot 

Come  from  the  lightning's  reach.    'Tis  well.   What  was't 
Many  a  night,  thou  saidst  ? 

Guenevere 

Many  a  night,  Sir  Launcelot,  have  I 
Lain  in  the  castle  of  silence,  when,  slowly 
Dropping  dew-like  round  the  eaves  of  sleep, 
Came  dreams  and  separate  lives.     And  then  I  saw 
That  other  life  our  younger  visions  painted. 
Ah,  one  soul  liveth  many  lives,  my  lord, 
During  our  days'  short  span.     Without  this  taint 
The  purity  of  the  court  were  still  unbroke, 
And  still  unmarred  were  chivalry  and  worship. 
But  from  our  love  I  fear  me  there  will  come 
Downfall  and  woe  to  many. 

Launcelot 

Grieve  not  thus  o'ermuch.     Dost  not  know  well 
God  pardoneth  all  things  sooner  than  despair  ? 

Guenevere 

Methought  there  must  be  holiness  somehow 
When  soul  drinketh  up  soul  for  love.     Somehow  — 


GUENEVERE  43 

But  since  it  may  not  be,  we  needs  must  grieve 
And  make  but  mournful  cheer. 

Launcelot 

Not  so,  for  all  the  quest  and  hoped-for  heaven! 
Surely  God  wearies  of  repentant  wretches, 
And  the  prostrate  flesh  of  wailing  men  cumbers 
The  path  of  the  world  too  much  already. 
Let  me  stand  up  till  I  be  dead,  I  cry, 
And  if  I  sin  I  have  eternity 
To  bide  the  punishment.     I  loved  thee,  thou 
Art  near  me  — 

Guenevere 

Beware!     Thou  dost  o'erleap  thyself,  as  ever 
At  the  moment's  heat.     Yet  I  do  love  thee  sure 
No  whit  less  that  thou  canst  forget  nice  counsel 
In  fond  madness.     Reason  speaks  to  reason 
But  unto  heart  only  the  heart  can  speak. 

Launcelot 
Heart  calleth  heart. 

Guenevere 

But  who  knows  not  man's  heart  is  but  Fate's  tool. 
And  somewhere  in  the  depths  of  space  our  separate 
Fates  call  to  each  other  through  the  void, 
And  draw  them  near. 

Launcelot 
Let  us  not  reck  of  Fate! 

Guenevere 

And  life  sweeps  by  us  like  a  wind  of  flame, 
While  we  do  wait  unseeing  in  the  caverns 
Of  Fate,  like  blind  things  in  the  sea-caves. 

Launcelot 
Alas,  why  looms  the  shade  of  Fate  thus  on  thee  ? 

Guenevere 

I  heard  strange  stories  long  ago  amid 
The  leaping  shadows  of  my  father's  hearth 
And  sea-howls  echoed  from  the  haunted  crags, 
And  oft  the  dreaded  of  my  Danish  forebears, 


44  GUENEVERE 

Wyrd,  great  goddess  of  Fate,  hath  loomed  on  me, 
Hath  beckoned  out  of  her  marble  mist,  O  Christ, 
And  I  draw  on  but  cannot  read  her  face. 
And  'yond  her  sitteth  Darkness  in  the  road. 
O  God,  if  Fate  be  in  thy  hand,  let  her 
Not  come  upon  me  yet! 

Launcelot 

Nay,  nay,  thou  art  o'erwrought  —  who  knows  but  I 
May  drive  Fate  back  from  thee  with  might  of  love  ? 
Man's  will  is  half  his  destiny. 

Guenevere 

She  hath  loved  long  the  nations  of  the  North, 
Sea-king  and  thane,  how  if  she  wait  their  daughter  ? 
How  if  e'en  now  she  smote  me  from  the  sun  ? 

Launcelot 
Thou'rt  rapt! 

Guenevere 
Lo,  at  the  window  there,  'tis  she! 

Launcelot 
'Tis  what  ? 

Guenevere 

Wyrd!     'Tis  Fate!     See  you  not  her  face 
There  in  the  blackness  ?     Do  I  not  know  thy  face, 
Thou  Hell-Queen?     Now  do  I  learn  its  feature! 
Spare  me,   O   Christ,  Christ   may   not  spare   me   from 
thee! 

Launcelot 

'Tis  frenzy  come  upon  thee! 
(Clamour  without.     Gauntlet  strikes  door.) 
Nay,  Thou'st  said  it! 
(Thunder  and  wind.      Flashes  of  lightning.} 

Voices  (without.) 

Ah,  traitor  knight,  we  have  thee!     Come  out!     Open 
to  us!     Ho! 

Launcelot 

Madam,  is  there  any  armour  here  that  I 
May  cover  my  body  'gainst  their  numbers  ? 


GUENEVERE  45 

Gue  never  e 

Alas,  none,  no  armour  here! 
(Knocking  and  cries  again.} 

Launcelot 

O  God,  this  shameful  cry  I  may  not  suffer. 
Most  noble  Christian  queen,  if  I  am  slain,  good  night, 
And  pray  for  my  soul.     Know  well  my  kinsmen  —  they 
Will  save  thee  from  the  fire. 

Gue never e 

Nay,  wit  thou  well,  Sir  Launcelot,  if  thou 
Art  slain,  I  will  take  my  death  meekly  as  ever 
Did  any  woman. 

(Knocking.  Cries.  Sir  Launcelot  gets  a  bolt  from  the 
window.  They  are  battering  at  the  door  with  a  beam.) 

Launcelot 

Leave  your  dashing,  cowards,  and  I  will  set 
Open  the  door. 

Mordred's   Voice 

As  well  ye  may,  traitor,  for  there  be  men 
Here  against  all  odds. 

Voices 
Eight!     Twelve!     Score! 

Guenevere 

Nay,  have  I  not  my  knights  ?     'Tis  strange  they 
Stir  not  at  such  clamour. 
(She  opens  the  door  to  their  chamber.) 

Launcelot 
'Tis  no  matter. 

Guenevere 

Sir  Colgrevaunce!     Sir  Gareth!  Ho!     Wake,  wake! 
They  wake  not,  O  God,  they  wake  not, 
'Twas  the  tankard!     Oh,  treachery! 

(Sir  Launcelot  opens  the  door  wide  enough  to  admit  one 
man.  A  big  knight  pushes  in.  Sir  Launcelot  fells 
him  with  the  bolt,  draws  him  in,  and  fastens  the  door.} 

Launcelot 
Off  with  his  armour,  help,  madam!     Do  thou 


46  GUENEVERE 

Dash  out  the  torches  here  when  I  am  gone. 

(Outside  there  is  an  astonished  silence.  Hammering  and 
cries  again.  Sir  Launcelot,  now  armed,  opens  the 
door  and  rushes  into  their  midst.  They  fight  on  the 
stair  and  in  the  corridor.  Guenevere  has  put  out  the 
torches.  Darkness  broken  only  by  flashes  of  light 
ning.  Mordred  rushes  terrified  into  the  room,  fol 
lowed  by  Agravaine,  whose  helmet  is  broken  off. 
They  are  revealed  by  a  flash.) 
Guenevere 

Ah,  God,  Sir  Mordred! 

(He  is  unbolting  the  door  to  the  knights'  chamber.     She 
snatches  the  great  tankard  from  the  floor  and  hurls  it.) 

Coward,  have  that  for  thee! 

(Lightning.     Mordred   has   escaped.     Agravaine   lies    on 
the  floor.) 

Dark!     O  God,  dark!     Oh,  alas! 

Who  is  it  there  that  draweth  nearer  me  ? 

Hell,  is  it  thou  revisitest  me  once  more 

To-night?     Nay,  it  hath  armour!     Speak! 

No  armour  but  a  mantle,  speak,  oh  speak! 

Thou  wilt  not  speak  —  I  know  thee!     Oh,  oh,  oh! 

(Enter    Sir   Launcelot   with    torch.     He   places    torch    in 

sconce  by  door.) 
Launcelot 

What  woe  is  this  ?     Thy  cry  hath  roused  the  very 

Falcons  in  the  mews. 
Guenevere 

One  touched  me  in  the  darkness!     I  am  mad! 

'Tis  naught.     Art  thou  hurt  ? 
Launcelot 

Nay,  but  do  faint  with  dealing  blows.     Calm  thee, 

Calm  thee!     Thou  shalt  not  come  to  harm.     Hear 

The  wind  moan! 
Guenevere 

How  if  the  king  knows  not  what  hath  befallen  ? 

'Twere  fond  to  think  they  would  not  tell  him. 


GUENEVERE  47 

But  he  is  just  and  blind  —  and  yet  'twas  Fate 
That  came  but  now  to  my  window. 

(Footsteps  without.) 

Launcelot 

Some  knight  returns  to  — 
(King  Arthur  stands  in  the  doorway.) 

Guenevere 
Jesu  Mari,  it  is  — ! 


ACT   III 

The  throne-end  of  the  council-hall.  The  throne  at  the 
back  to  the  right  is  under  a  blue  canopy,  spangled  with 
gold,  the  whole  elevated  on  a  dais.  To  the  left  are 
arched  doorways  leading  to  the  courts.  Bells  are  ring 
ing.  Two  knights  on  guard. 
First  Knight 

'Tis  the  third  bell  for  the  court. 
Second  Knight 

Aye,  the  trial  of  the  queen  hath  caused  delay 

In  opening  the  tribunal. 

(Enter  Sir  Kay.) 
First  Knight 

The  queen  will  be  tried,  then,  this  day.     What  hast 

Thou  heard  in  the  matter,  Sir  Kay  ? 
Kay 

Ask  me  not.     Are  mine  ears  then  carrion  dumps  ? 
Second  Knight 

Much  both  false  and  true,  methinks.     Men  say 

The  queen  would  fain  stay  at  the  court,  holding 

Her  present  station.     There  are  two  ways  open:  one 

To  bide  here  as  queen,  the  other  to  depart  — 
First  Knight 

With  Launcelot  to  Joyous  Garde  ? 
Second  Knight 

Aye,  with  Launcelot. 


48  GUENEVERE 

First  Knight 
Then  she  is  traitress  to  the  king,  sayest  thou  ? 

Second  Knight 
Men  say  it. 

First  Knight 
And  the  king  ? 

Second  Knight 

This  treason  hath  power  to  stir  a  sea  that  tops 
The  very  promontories  of  men's  souls. 

First  Knight 

Life  were  not  dearer  than  her  station.     'Twere 
Better  she  be  dead  than  queen  no  longer. 

Second  Knight 
Few  there  be  that  will  arm  to  speed  the  queen's  death. 

First  Knight 
Few.     Not  I. 

Second  Knight 
'Tis  a  dark  hour. 

Kay 

Carp,  carp!     What  then,  what  would  ye  have  ?     Wrong 
Or  right,  the  queen  hath  courted  hazards,  wooed 
Mishaps.     Can  one  head  think  for  the  world  ?     Once 
I  said  to  her:  "Look,  madam,  look  to  your  road! 
Whatever  your  thoughts  be  of  wrong  or  right, 
The  world  goes  on  its  destined  pace,  and  where 
You  err  'tis  you  that  fall.     And  men  sing  on 
Though  your  poor  ears  be  stopped  with  death." 

Second  Knight 

Forgotten  of  men,  that  were  the  tragedy 
Of  death  methinks. 

First  Knight 
All  may  not  be  so  wise  as  thou,  Sir  Kay. 

Kay 
All  do  not  try. 

Second  Knight 

I  have  spoke  more  of  question  than  of  what 
Mine  ears  have  gleaned  about  this  buzzing  court. 


GUENEVERE  49 

Mark    you,    Sir    Knights,    mark    you,    and    mark    you 

well, 

Mark  you  the  queen  will  be  forgot  in  the  bloody 
Strife  that  follows  on  this  day.     I  have 
An  inkling  of  Sir  Mordred's  schemes.     Mark  you. 
The  queen  will  be  forgot.     First  Sir  Mordred 
Strips  Sir  Launcelot's  forces  from  the  king, 
Then  he  revolts.     His  eyes  are  green  long  since. 

First  Knight 

True.  There  is  wind  of  it  very  like.  'Tis  through 
The  queen  he  strikes  the  king.  Were  she  not  here 
He'd  find  another  way. 

Second  Knight 

Guenevere  had  eyes  that  saw  ere  this,  wherefore 
Hath  she  been  blind  and  sightless  in  this  treachery  ? 

First  Knight 

She  hath  a  sorrow  of  her  own,  poor  lady, 
Bleak  winter  yelling  round  her  troublous  heart. 

Second  Knight 
They  say  the  queen  is  contrite. 

First  Knight 

I  know  not  if  her  mood  be  so,  my  lord. 
She  seemeth  as  one  grieving  for  the  end 
Her  deed  hath  wrought,  but  holds  not  shame  nor  'sor 
row 

For  the  deed,  feeling  that  heaven  in  some  deep  way 
Doth  justify  this  love  and  madness. 

Second  Knight 

I  understand  not  such  things,  but  I  know 
That  men  may  do  these  things,  but  women  never. 

Kay 

Faugh!  'tis  rubbish.     Thus  my  cook  will  say 
"Bread  must  be  so,  and  cake  be  thus,  or  they 
Will  never  rise."     I  tell  thee  'tis  all  rubbish. 
Leaven  is  leaven,  and  fire,  fire!     And  men 
And  women  burn  and  rise  and  fall,  as  bread 
And  cake,  alike.     'Tis  rubbish  but  'tis  men's 


5o  GUENEVERE 

Philosophy,  I  look  not  there  for  sense. 

Second  Knight 

Here  comes  Sir  Launcelot,  and  his  kin  with  him 
Stepping  with  his  steps. 

(Enter  Sir  Launcelot,  Sir  Bors,  Sir  Lionel,  Sir  Urre,  and 
others.) 

Bors 

All  your  kindred  and  their  followers 
Do  stand  without,  ready  and  armed 
If  there  be  need.     We  drank  your  wine  with  you 
When  fortune  ran  it,  and  now  we  will  drink  water. 
Your  will  is  ours  — 

Launcelot 

Most  noble  kinsmen,  I  am  much  beholden 
To  you.  Give  me  your  counsel,  for  if  ever 
Man  needed  it,  'tis  I  at  this  time. 

Bors. 
My  lord,  this  calm  of  thine  is  well  — 

Launcelot 

'Twas  spoken  idly  —  what  is  counsel  now  ? 
Who  thinketh  I  will  let  harm  light  on  her 
Doth  know  me  not.     No  red  drop  brims  at  my 
Heart's  fountain   but  doth  run  for  her. 

Urre 
And  we  are  strong  — 

Launcelot 

My  sword  hath  rived  in  twain  men's  flesh  ere  this! 
For  every  sorrow  laid  on  her  I  will 
Set  wells  of  blood  running  in  this  vile  court, 
And  many  filthy,  lying  mouths  will  set 
To  eating  up  their  ordure!     Spread  wreck  — 

Bors 

Hold,  my  lord,  the  king  comes. 

(Enter  King  Arthur,  Sir  Mordred,  Sir  Gawain,  Dagonet, 
and  the  court.  Few  are  armed.  Arthur  sits.  Mor- 
dred  and  his  party  take  their  place  on  the  right  of  the 
throne.) 


GUENEVERE  51 

Arthur 

My  lords,  good  morrow.     The  queen  comes  not  yet  ? 
What  justice  is  there  to  be  rendered  ? 
For  the  king  must  needs  judge  timely  and  wisely  though 
The  man  hath  vitals  tortured  on  the  rack. 

Gawain 

My  lord,  here  is  a  man  whose  fields  are  waste 
And  grain  downtrodden  by  your  last  assay 
Of  hunting. 

Arthur 

Enough,  enough,  you  shall  be  paid.     Sir  Kay, 
Look  to  it. 

Kay 

Aye,  my  lord,  pay,  pay,  we  are  always  paying. 
(Enter  Cador  and  Breuse,  drunk.) 

Arthur 

'Tis  out  of  form  and  reverence  that  ye  come 
Thus   here,   muddled  with  wine. 

Cador 

'Tis  out  of  form  and  reverence  what  we  have 
To  tell  the  king.     'Tis  somewhat  for  thy  ears. 

Arthur 
Speak, then. 

Cador 

Last  night  before  the  feast,  in  a  dark  place  - 
Some  say  the  dark  is  devilled  —  before  the  cups 
At  the  feast,  I  heard  two  speak  together. 

Arthur 
What  said  they,  good  fellow  ? 

Cador 

Thou  heardst  it,  Breuse,  what  was't  ?     I  cannot  think. 
My  lord,  I  wake  not  early  thus  all  days. 

Breuse 

I  cannot  think.     Sure  the  place  was  dark, 
And  they  spake  ill. 

Arthur 
Spake  ill  ? 


52  GUENEVERE 

Breuse 
One  was  a  kinsman  of  the  king. 

Arthur 
Kinsman  ? 

Cador 
High-voiced  and  hot. 

Arthur 
Who  ?     Cudgel  thy  brains,  who  ? 

Breuse 
Who,  sweet  friend  ? 

Cador 

Speak,   thou   leanest  heavily!     Leave   rocking, 
Thou  art  not  the  ship  of  state. 

Breuse 
'Tis  thou,  thou  weight.     Speak! 

Arthur 

Take    these    two    hence,    Gawain.       Kinsmen  ?     Spake 
ill? 

Mordred 

'Tis  naught,  my  lord.     It  is  a  drunken  fancy 
Now  I  do  think  me,  Dagonet  did  sing 
A  ballad  of  King  Mark's  black  treachery 
Against  Tristram  his  kinsman.     This  same  tale 
Is  but  the  coinage  of  their  drunken  ears 
From  the  same  song. 

Arthur 
Treachery  —  did  they  say  treachery  ? 

Mordred 
Spake  ill,  no  treachery. 

Arthur 
Didst  thou  sing  so,  boy  ? 

Dagonet 
Not  I,  my  lord. 

Mordred 
'Twas  then  another. 

Arthur 
Very  like,  'tis  naught.     Let  us  begin  again. 


GUENEVERE  53 

Gawain 

Here  is  a  woman,  lord,  whose  husband  scorm 
And  beats  her  like  a  dog. 

Woman 

My  lord,  King  Arthur,  by  your  leave.     I  loved 
This  man  with  a  mad,  woman's  love,  and  he  - 
My  lord,  he  loved  me.     But  he  spurns  me  now, 
And  flouts  me  in  my  face.     He  hath  struck  me 
And  I  bore  with  that,  cursed  me  and  I  took  that, 
But  he  hath  wronged  me,  and  I  will  - 

Arthur 
Wronged  thee  ?     He  hath  wronged  thee  ? 

Woman 
Yea,  shamefully. 

Arthur  , 

Calm  thee,  calm  thee,  thou  wretched  broken  wretch. 
Thou  shalt  have  justice,  there  is  much  too  much 
Of  wrong  done  in  the  world. 

Woman 
Nay,  I  would  not  have  him  hurt,  my  lord. 

Kay 

Aye,  that  is  the  way  of  woman.     Fardon  me, 
My  lord  Arthur,  I  must  speak  —  'tis  wisdom. 
Woman,  if  thou  dost  love  a  man,  and  fain 
Would  keep  his  love,  show  not  the  excess  of  thy 
Affection  and  feed  him  well.     Man  is  a  brute 
To   be   held    by   the   muzzle   and    not    by   the 

chords. 
Arthur 

Ho,  Sir  Kay,  thy  words  o'ershoot  thee,  man, 
Thou  hast  been  seneschal  so  long  that  thou 
Dost  think  all  things  concerned  with  food. 

Kay 

If  I  am  cynical  of  men,  my  lord, 
'Tis  this. 
Arthur 
'Tis  wherefore  ? 


54  GUENEVERE 

Kay 
My  lord,  I  have  seen  them  eat. 

Gawain 

Here  is  another  woman  who  hath  wrongs 
She  cannot  tell  — 

Arthur 
So  have  we  all,  woman. 

Gawain 
She  wears  her  wits  awry. 

Kay 
'Tis  no  new  ailment. 

Gawain 
My  lord,  she  hath  - 

Herald 
The  queen,  make  way  for  the  queen! 

Arthur 

Woman,  thou  shalt  return. 

(Enter  Guenevere.  A  noise  of  cries  and  wailing  comes 
from  the  outer  courts.  Guenevere  takes  her  stand  at 
the  left  of  the  throne.  Launcelot  comes  nearer  to  the 
front.) 

Arthur 

Madam,  there  are  charges  here  to-day 
Imperilling  thy  life  and  Launcelot's  honour. 
What  noise  dins  in  the  court  ? 

Gawain 

My  lord,  it  is  the  people  making  dole, 
And  wailing  lest  the  queen  be  burned. 

Arthur 
Lay  it,  such  clamour  is  unseemly. 

Launcelot 
My  lord,  let  me  speak. 

Arthur 

Ah,  Sir  Launcelot,  Sir  Launcelot, 
Thee  have  I  loved  in  gone  days  passing  well, 
And  now  thou  hast  cast  sorrow  over  me. 
Once  I  mind  me,  'fore  mine  eyes  were  weary 


GUENEVERE  55 

Feeding  on  their  dear  faces,  thou  didst  take 

My    knights    on    the    Quest    of   the    Holy    Grail,    and 

ne'er 

That  goodly  company  met  whole  again. 
But  now  thou  hast  done  worse  and  ta'en  away 
More  than  my  Round  Table.     And  thou  hast  edged 
Treachery  'twixt  me  and  thee. 

Launcelot 
Hear  me,  my  lord. 

Cries 
Hear  him,  hear  him!     Hear  him  not!  Sir  Launcelot! 

Gawain 

My  lord,  go  slow.     To  lose  a  noble  friend 
Is  like  a  loss  of  the  dear  life,  is  such 
A  loss;  for  a  man's  friends  are  his  life. 
Go  slow,  a  day  may  show  the  evil,  but 
The  time  is  longer  that  makes  manifest 
The  good. 

Arthur 

Doth  baneful  Fate  will  thus  that  we  must  see 
To  understand,  be  blind  to  act  ?     Oh,  would 
That  I  were  blind  in  this.     For  well  I  know 
That  now  indeed  is  my  whole  kingdom  mischieved. 
(Cries  without.} 

There  will  be  war,  Sir  Launcelot,  now,  'twixt  me 
And  thee,  thy  blood  and  my  blood,  cruel  strife, 
Tearing  the  vitals  of  this  realm.     Mine  arm 
Is  powerless  for  seeing  what  will  fall. 
Madam,  I  rejoice  to  see  thee  weep, 
'Twere  best  wept  sooner  when  there  was  some  boot 

Launcelot 

Then  I  will  out,  willy,  nilly.     King  Arthur, 
I  own  the  debt  I  owe  to  thee,  for  thou 
Didst  give  me  knighthood,  and  of  thee 
Have  I  had  honour  and  much  worship.     Yet 
In  all  thy  quarrels  have  I  lent  what  aid 
I  might  in  thy  behalf,  shoulder  and  heart 


56  GUENEVERE 

Have  been  thine,  buckler  and  helm  and  sword, 
Vassal  and  steed,  been  thine.     Nor  have  I  cast 
Green  eyes  of  envy  on  thy  station,  nor 
Champed  a  restive  bit,  hearing  thy  fame 
Exalted,  as  have  some  nearer  of  kin 
To  thee,  I   name  them  not. 

Arthur 

Why  do  ye  glare  on  my  nephew  Mordred  ? 
But  'tis  naught. 

Launcelot 
But  I  did  add 

Ever  what  inches  I  might  unto  thy  stature. 
In  all  thy  heat  thou  canst  not  yet  forget 
How  many  a  venture  have  we  had  together 
Of  joy  or  woe.  Therefore,  my  lord,  for  this 
Old  brotherhood,  I  pray  thee  think  on  me, 
And  judge  not  rashly. 

Arthur 

Yea,  truly  must  I  think  on  thee,  yea,  truly, 
Bitter  or  sweet,  still  must  I  think  on  thee. 

Launcelot 

Nay,  think  what  thou  wilt  then,  on  my  soul  I  care 
Not.     I  cannot  sit  as  thou  and  weigh 
Vantage  'gainst  vantage,  and  knit  prudence  up, 
Search  whether  't  be  good  or  bad  or  what, 
Teach  mine  eyes  to  rob  their  sockets  of  flight. 
And  stop  mine  ears  with  silence.     'Tis  fitter  work 
For  hermits  and  white  hairs,  not  men.     I  know 
No  honied  speech  nor  do  I  value  aught 
The  slippered  dalliance  of  the  favoured  few, 
But  strike  with  this  arm  what  harmeth  me  or  them 
I  love.     'Tis  many  times  I  championed  her 
Whilst  thou  sat  dreaming  high  emprise  or  plan 
To  win  wide  rumour  for  thy  name.     Thinkst  thou, 
God's  life,  I  can  no  longer  wield  this  sword  ? 
'Tis  blood  for  blood,  hate  for  hate  thou'lt  have  ? 
She  is  the  queen,  who  then  shall  judge  her? 


GUENEVERE  57 

Arthur 

Stay,  Sir  Launcelot,  thou  art  mad  in  thy  heat. 
Tis  hot  blood  that  hath  cost  thee  dear  ere  this. 

Launcelot 

Thou  knowst  'tis  fellowship  and  humility 
That  kept  me  thine,  not  lack  of  realm  or  power. 
Lands  have  I,   kinsmen   and  followers, 
And  all  are  hers  whom  through  me  ye  would  shame  - 
Therefore  show  me  him  that  dares  accuse  her. 

Arthur 
The  clamour  in  the  court  increases. 

Gawain 

My  lord,  it  cannot  be  stilled.     Some  there  be 
That   think   the   queen    condemned    to    be    burnt,    and 

they 

Bewail  piteously  her  death.     But  some 
Deem  she  is  cleared  of  blame,  and  they  do  growl 
And  mutter  underneath  their  breaths,  and  curse 
Loudly  this  tribunal. 

Arthur 

But  how  if  she  be  pardoned  here  ? 
(Noise  in  Sir  MordrecTs  party  to  the  right.) 

Gawain 

My  lord,  to  my  eyes,  judging  as  best  I  may, 
If  she  bide  here  there  will  be  blood  and  strife, 
Whether  she  be  burned  or  pardoned.     Either 
Way  is  dangerous. 

Launcelot 

Nay,  hear  ye  this,  if  she  stay  not  as  queen, 
She  shall  not  stay  at  all. 

Bors 
Yea,  think  ye  we  will  let  the  queen  be  burnt  ? 

Urre 
To  arms  for  the  queen! 

Arthur 
Silence! 


58  GUENEVERE 

Cries 

To  arms,  to  arms!     For  the  king!     For  Mordred!     For 
the,  queen! 

Arthur 
Mordred  ?  what  cause  is  that  ? 

Guenevere 
I  pray  you,  Sir  Knights  — 

Cries 
The  queen  speaks!     Let  us  hear  the  queen! 

Kay 
Stop  your  gabble,  fools,  and  hear  the  queen! 

Voice 
She  hath  been  overlong  silent  now. 

Arthur 
Silence,  she  is  yet  the  queen! 

Cries 
The  queen!  the  queen! 

Guenevere 

I  will  put  off  thy  crown  and  robe  before 
I  speak  in  trial. 

Arthur 
Speak.     Tis  well! 

Guenevere 

Lords  and  vassals  of  this  island  realm, 
Hear  me  speak.     I  will  say  briefly  and 
Have  done.     My  lords,  I  am  a  woman,  whom 
The  gods  built  bigger  than  their  wonted  mould. 
Wilder,  more  diverse,  waging  fiercer  war 
And  conflict  'twixt  the  good  and  evil.     He 
That  hath  pinions  larger  than  the  common  flight 
Must  needs  take  greater  pains  lest  they  be  sullied. 
My  lord  Arthur,  I  have  ever  loved 
Thee  since  I  came  from  Cameliard, 
My  father's  land,  loved  thee  as  men  love  saints. 
Not  with  the  petty  pulsing  of  the  veins, 
Nor  jealousies  nor  heat  of  mad  desire, 
But  at  the  topmost  of  my  soul's  bent. 


GUENEVERE  59 

Arthur 

Is  that  the  love  men  ask  of  women  —  good  men  ? 
I  know  not. 

Guenevere 

Since  thou'rt  ideal,  they  that  love  thee  love 
Thee  as  a  mystic  symbol,  or  a  bodied 
Soul  of  some  dear  thing,  not  as  frail  man. 
Thou  hast  not  known  the  low  brown  earth,  nor  it 
Known  thee.     So  wast  thou  ever  loved,  and  so 
Thou  hast  loved  me,  however  much  thou'st  loved. 
For  thou  knowst  well,  my  lord,  this  is  no  husband's 
Nor  no  lover's  jealousy  that  moves 
Thee  in  this  sifting  trial  thus,  but  is 
The  jealous  eye  the  king  bends  on  the  crystal 
Perfectness  of  his  long-dreamed-of  court. 
Thy  kingdom  is  thy  spouse,  my  lord,  not  I. 
I  fear  I  speak  o'erboldly. 

Arthur 
Nay,  'tis  no  matter.     Speak. 

Guenevere 
Then,  ah,  then  — 

Arthur 
Well,  well,  then  —  ? 

Guenevere 

I  have  loved  Sir  Launcelot  too.     All  the  pomp 
And  glory  of  this  world,  of  sights  and  sound, 
Of  summer  air  and  downs  of  May,  of  stars 
And  white  dawn  leaping  over  dewy  fields, 
Of  life  and  love  and  the  little  moods  men  know, 
And  bossed  arms,  and  chivalry,  and  jousts, 
Of  blood  and  wild,   unquenchable  revenge, 
Of  bowers  drunk  with  music  and  sweet  sound, 
All  this  my  woman's  heart  hath  found  to  love 
In  him,  Sir  Launcelot.     So  have  I  loved 
You  both,  but  differently.     Methinks  that  God 
Hath  placed  in  me  such  high,  opposing  tides 
That  if  my  soul  be  shipwrecked  he  could  blame 


60  GUENEVERE 

Me  not. 

Arthur 

Madam,  me  seemeth  'twas  all  love  with  you. 
Were  there  not  other  things  stirring  at  court  ? 

Guenevere 

The  diverse  uses  of  the  world  make  men 
Take  love  only  as  a  part  of  the  whole 
Existence,  but  women  —  as  a  jewel  liveth 
By  the  light,  so  live  women  by  love. 

Arthur 
Haply.     And  now  ? 

Guenevere 
Now  —  I  speak  not  for  the  din. 

Arthur 
What  if  ye  be  our  queen  no  longer  ? 

Launcelot 
Go  with  me,  thou  shalt  go  with  me,  my  lady! 

Arthur 
Queen  no  more! 

Cries 
With  Launcelot!     Queen  no  more!     With  Launcelot! 

Guenevere 

Nay,  nay,  not  Launcelot,  let  that  have  done. 
Steal  thou  my  crown,  I  go  not  hence  with  him 
To  Joyous  Garde,  to  be  his  love.     Nay,  nay. 
I  will  not  so.     Sure  life  turneth  bitter 
In  the  cup,  and  I  must  dash  it  from  me. 

Arthur 
Where  wilt  thou  turn  if  thou  art  queen  no  longer  ? 

Guenevere 

If  he  rescue  me  hence,  know  ye  'twill  be 
To  the  sisters  by  Boscastle.     There  shall  I 
Be  buried  from  this  world,  and  let  my  soul 
Crowd  with  its  persons  my  life's  stage.     But  if 
I  bide  here  — 

Cries 
Thou'lt  burn!  Treason!     (Confusion.} 


GUENEVERE  61 

Gue never e 

Aye,  leave  your  howling,  poor  lean  curs, 
Fattened  with  this  man's  collops.     Ah!  Sir  Mordred, 
Why  hast  thou  been  so  keen  to  fill  black  sails  ? 
Art  thou  the  giant  Jubaunce  or  Goliath  ? 
For  I  know  well  who  set  these  on  - 

Mordred 
Madam,  I  pray  thee,  I  am  all  for  peace. 

Guenevere 

Yea,  very  like,  —  my  lord  Arthur,  look  - 
Thy  dove  of  peace  hath  need  of  armour  plate 
Beneath  his  quills. 

(She  tears  off  Mordred' s  cloak.  He  stands  in  bis  breast 
plate.) 

Ah,  cowards  have  ever  need  of  steel.     I  leave 
Thee  now  to  them,  kind  leeches,  they  will  suck 
Thy  veins  dry  to  a  drop.     But  who  am  I 
That  speak  ?     (She  starts  out.) 

Arthur 

Nay,  madam,  nay,  God's  life,  nay,  dost  think  —  ? 
Stay,  thy  cause  must  still  be  tried. 

Guenevere 

Queen  no  more.     Aye,  I  have  had  my  hour. 
This  hour  my  life  hath  spoken  in  full  tone. 
No  more  I  strive  in  the  world,  for  I  am  ashamed 
Enough  of  men  already.     May  I  not 
Go  hence?     I  am  all  undone  methinks. 

Launcelot 

Tis  I  speak  for  her.     Sir,  what  man  shall  judge  her  ? 
My  lord  kinsmen,  close  round. 

(The  kinsmen  surround  the  queen.  Exeunt.  Mordred 
and  his  party  follow.  The  crowd  vanishes.  Sir 
Gawain  and  King  Arthur  remain.) 

Arthur 
'Tis  blood  for  wrong.     Take  sword  and  follow  me. 

Gawain 
But  first  have  brought  thine  arms,  my  lord,  'twere  folly 


62  GUENEVERE 

Else  to  venture. 

Arthur 
Nay,  God  forearmed   me  in  this   matter. 

Gawain 
Give  over  theories  — 

Arthur 

Hold  me  not,  or  I  may  do  thee  hurt. 
Come,  come,  let  the  horn  blow. 
(The  commotion   without  lessens.     Enter  knight.) 

Knight 

My  lord,  they  have  buffeted  their  way 
Through  the  outer  gate,  and  they  are  gone  by  horse 
Toward  Boscastle.     The  people  cheer  for  joy 
At  their  escape.     Let  make  pursuit  ?     Or  not  ? 
(A  bell  rings.     Enter  Sir  Kay.) 

Kay 

My  lord,  Mordred  hath  seized  the  south  tower,  and  is 
In  open  rebellion. 

Arthur 

Oh,  traitors  all!     Oh,  traitor  roof  that  falls 
Not  on  this  day.     (Flings  off  his  crown.)     Into  the  dust, 

thou  ring 

Of  wretchedness!     To  arms!     To  arms! 
(A  crowd  fours  into  the  room.      Confusion.     All  the  bells 
of  the  castle  are  clanging.) 

Cries 
To  arms!     To  arms!     To  arms!     (Without.)     Mordred 

for  king!     Mordred  for  king! 
To  arms! 

ACT   IV 

Reception-hall  of  the  convent  on  the  cliffs  near  Boscastle. 
To  the  left,  at  the  back,  a  flight  of  seven  steps  leads  to  the 
cloister  corridor,  beyond  which  is  the  garden  with  a  wall 
and  trees  at  the  end.  On  the  left,  near  the  front,  is  a 
prie-dieu  with  flowers  and  lighted  candles.  At  the 


GUENEVERE  63 

back  of  the  room  a  kind  of  Roman  seat,  long,  with  a  low 
back  and  arm-pieces.  Benches  on  the  right.  Outside 
in  the  garden  it  is  early  dawn,  and  beyond  the  trees 
shines  the  golden  sky.  Save  for  the  sound  of  the  surge 
below,  there  is  a  great  stillness  over  the  world.  Two 
novices  enter,  and  light  new  candles  on  the  pne-dieu. 

Enter  SAINT  MORWENA,  the  abbess,  and  with  her  GUE 
NEVERE    in    white    dress    and   veil.     On    her    breast 
she  wears  the  emblem  of  the  Sacred  Heart. 
Morwena 

Hast  thou  found  peace,  my  daughter? 
Guenevere 

Yea,  mother,  as  doth  the  moon,  whose  burnt-out  sphere 

Keeps  one  face  turned  to  sunward,  so 

The  dead  globe  of  my  life  hath  one  side  lit, 

The  other  dark.     I  am  pale  grown  and  weak, 

And  my  poor  body  hath  forgot  its  splendour. 
Morwena 

There  is  another  splendour  in  whose  light 

All  flesh  is  grass. 
Guenevere 

Now  my  soul  calls  to  me  with  a  hundred 

Tongues,  the  heralds  of  my  spirit, 
Morwena 

Evil  is  no  thing  within  itself, 

But  is  a  lacking  of  the  vital  good. 

And  of  thy  life  what  man  is  there  shall  judge 

Save  our  sweet  father,  Christ  ? 
Guenevere 

Gentle  brother  Christ,  father  and  brother. 

'Tis  like  to  something  lived  in  sleep  thou  stirrest. 
Morwena 

Life  is  a  restless  sleep. 
Guenevere 

The  dreaming  king  forgot  me,  and  another 

Loved  me,  and  I  loved  him.     That  was  my  right 

To  live.     Think  you  I  should  have  starved  the  life 


64  GUENEVERE 

I  had  for  some  uncertain  good  to  come  ? 

Morwena 

Belike  that  were  not  all  of  life,  this  love. 
God  gave  man  love  to  lead  him  out  of  self, 
And  upward  — 

Guenevere 

Man's  self  and  God,  I  know  not  where  they  meet, 
Nor  where  they  part. 

Morwena 

To  lead  us  out  of  self  and  upward. 
For  all  things  do  but  school  us  to  God's  end. 

Guenevere 

Very  like.     Writ  round  the  cell  of  our  narrow  lives 
Are  runes  we  cannot  read.     Our  days  are  but 
A  footbridge  'tween  two  worlds  —  nay,  I  do  speak 
By  rote,  knowing  naught      My  brain  doth  lose  the  thread. 
Once  at  the  sacrament  methought  I  saw 
A  figure  in  the  likeness  of  a  child, 
And  lo!  his  face  shined  bright  as  any  fire, 
And  smote  itself  into  the  blessed  bread. 
I  never  had  a  child  whose  little  hands 
Had  drawn  me  from  the  tawdry  passing  world 
Into  the  mother's  holy  chamber.     Nay  — 
'Twas  only  empty  hours  and  cold  hearth, 
And  young  love  beating  at  the  door  without. 
Woe  to  the  woman  whose  happiest  days  do  come 
To  be  the  days  she  most  laments. 

Morwena 

Thou  hast  thought  much  within  these  quiet  walls, 
Meditation  is  fair  Solitude's 
True  sister. 

Guenevere 

Yea,  thought  much,  and  well,  well  have  I  paid 
For  the  worldly  draught  my  cup  hath  brimmed.     And  yet 
Meseems  that  there  are  others  that  pay  less 
And  sin  far  more.     Some  there  be  that  sin 
Vilely  and  often,  and  then  forget  it  straight  — 


GUENEVERE  65 

Morwena 
Him  that  forgotteth  God  hath  forgotten. 

Guenevere 
And  the  world  forgets  likewise  and  blameth  not. 

Morwena 

Yea,  they  be  fools  that  live  their  lives,  and  do 
Perceive  the  truth  as  little  as  do  spoons 
Perceive  the  taste  of  broth.     Their  clouds  and  thine 
Have  different  heights. 

Guenevere 

And  some  torture  themselves  for  every  little 
Wrong,  pondering  their  deeds,  and  the  world 
Curseth  them  — 

Morwena 

Yet  they  are  blest,  for  they  do  meditate, 
And  he  that  thinketh  truly  cannot  die, 
But  the  thoughtless  are  as  dead  already. 
He  that  is  wise  doth  choose  the  thoughtful  life 
As  a  clever  woman  findeth  the  right  colour. 
Long  is  the  night  to  him  that  cannot  sleep, 
Long  is  the  journey  to  the  weary  man, 
And  long  is  the  span  of  life  to  the  foolish.     Take 
Some  quiet  hour  at  sundown  in  some  peaceful 
Place,  and'  look  about  the  vineyard 
Of  thy  soul.     The  moon  is  silver  clear  by  night. 
The  water  glimmers  in  the  sun,  but  be 
Thou  shining  in  thy  meditation. 

Guenevere 

For  some  that  is  an  easy  thing,  but  not 
For  all. 

Morwena 

Aye,  passion  breaks  through  unreflecting  minds 
As  rain  through  ill-thatched  houses,  so  the  sage 
Hath  written.     Oh,  what  a  fool  is  man  that  sets 
His  lips  unto  the  brimming  cup  of  passion. 
It  is  a  galling  drink  that  kindles  thirst, 
And  sates  but  with  exhaustion.     But  thine 


66  GUENEVERE 

Is  drained.     Daughter,  thou  dost  well  to  pray 
And  keep  thy  vigils,  for  to-morrow  is 
The  day  thou  tak'st  thy  vows,  is't  not  ? 
Then  thou  mayst  wear  the  garb  of  peace  always. 

Guenevere 

Yea,   mother,  take  the  vow  relinquishing 
All  the  vain  idols  of  the  world,  to  purge 
My  flesh  of  earthly  desire,  and  strip  my  soul 
Naked  before  God 

Morwena 

Bless  thee,  my  daughter,  I  rejoice  that  thou 
Art  ready. 

Guenevere 
Ready—! 

Morwena 

Why  dost  thou  stare  and  round  thine  eyes  so,  seeing 
Naught  r 

Guenevere 

Mother,  I  do  fear  I  know  not  what 
That  yet  may  fall.     Last  night  I  had  a  dream. 
And  in  it  I  did  see  a  tournament 
Of  ladies  fair  and  noble  knights, 

Whose  spear-heads  flickered  when  they  moved  like  flames. 
Then  at  the  hurtling  that  did  follow  there, 
All  my  wild  blood  boiled,  and  the  strong,  sweet  taint 
Of  the  world  came  back  into  my  veins.     How  do 
I  know  but  having  given  up  my  worldly  drink 
I  yet  be  ta'en  athirst  for  Camelot  and  glory  ? 

Morwena 
Jesu  defend  me! 

Guenevere 

Then  were  I  lost  indeed,  O  God,  if  I 
Do  leave  off  woman  and  turn  saint,  give  up 
The  world  and  cannot  keep  my  heaven.     Be  neither 
Spiritual  nor  fleshly,  saint  nor  queen. 

Morwena 
Thou  beatst  too  high,  these  words  are  wild.     Let  God 


GUENEVERE  67 

Choose  for  thee,  daughter.  Our  hearts  are  frail 
Barks  for  rough  seas.  Let  God  choose  for  thee. 
(The  matin  bell  rings,  the  light  of  full  day  is  in  the  garden.} 

Morwena 

The  matin  bell.     Go  thou,  child,  peace  be  with  thee. 
{In  the  cloister  corridor  the  sisters  are  passing.     Guene- 
vere   looks   at  them   till   they   are  past,   then   follows 
after.     The   abbess   stands   before   the   pne-dieu    and 
crosses  herself.     Enter  Sister  Agatha.} 

A gat  ha 

Mother,  I  cannot  pray  for  watching  her  face. 
Her  soul  doth  seem  to  feed  upon  itself. 

Morwena 
How,  child  ? 

A gat ha 

The  queen  —  there  seems  a  clashing  of  two  spheres 
Within  her  frame.     Last  night  I  heard  —  thou  knowst 
Her  cell  is  next  to  mine  —  last  night  the  queen 
Did  clatter  in  her  sleep,  and  clapped  her  hands 
And  cried  out:  "Ho,  well  struck!     Avoid  thy  horse!" 
And  other  speeches  from  the  lists.     Strange  peace 
For  one  that  goes  to  take  her  vows  so  soon. 

Morwena 

She  hath  already  told  me  of  this  dream. 
What  song  is  that  ? 

A gatha 

'Tis  Dagonet,  the  queen's  page.     The  lad 
Is  thoughtless  to  sing  thus  within  these  walls. 

Dagonet  (at  the  gate} 

Look  out,  my  lady  fair,  and  see 
The  lustre  of  the  night, 
The  moon  beneath  her  canopy 
Sails  beauteous  and  bright  — 
(Enter  Dagonet.} 

Madam,  there  is  a  knight  at  the  gate,  I  hear 
His  horse's  panting  —  I  saw  him  near. 
Haply  it  is  King  Arthur  come  to  see 


68  GUENEVERE 

My  lady  —  ah,  if  it  were  !  —  and  behind,  there 
Southward  on  Tintagel  Road,  a  cloud 
Of  dust  like  men-at-arms  galloping.     Haply 
I  may  hold  his  bridle  while  he  stays. 

Agatha 
The  king  ? 

Morwena 
King  Arthur  ? 

Agatha  (going  to  the  corridor) 
'Tis  he.     Madam,  I  will  leave  you.     (Exit.} 
(Enter  King  Arthur.) 

Arthur 
God  keep  thee,  madam.     The  queen  —  ? 

Morwena 

God  keep  thee,  my  lord.     My  lord,  I  am  an  old 
Woman,  and  I  speak  my  thoughts.     I  fear  thy  coming 
Is   but  poorly  placed.     To-morrow  the  queen 
Doth  give  her  vows,  leaving  forever  all 
The  transitory  uses  of  this  world  — 

Arthur 

Ere  this,  ere  this,  I  had  come  had  not  the  brawls 
That  broke  out  on  the  trial  day  kept  all 
The  realm  bestead.     Sir  Launcelot's  falseness  is 
Forgot  in  larger  woes. 

Morwena 
Where  is  Sir  Launcelot  ? 

Arthur 
Gone  to  his  lands  in  Fraunce. 

Morwena 
And  thou  ? 

Arthur 

My  mantle  clingeth  heavier  than  mail. 
Now  am  I  like  a  father  whose  one  son, 
The  sole  issue  of  his  loins,  is  slain.     At  morn 
He  minds  him  of  his  son's  going,  and  at  eve 
His  coming.     Seeth  his  heir's  house  wasted, 
The  chamber  of  the  winds,  where  harp  sounds  not, 


GUENEVERE  69 

Nor  any  joy  within  the  court  as  once. 
Wherefore  am  I  come  to  bid  farewell 
To  her  that  shortly  goes  to  take  her  leave 
Of  life.     Once  was  she  queen,  and  well  I  know 
Of  her  and  me  that  each  shall  not  see  other 
More  with  fleshly  eyes. 

Morwena 

I  fear  me  lest  the  sight  of  thee  will  rouse 
The  red  tide  of  her  blood  and  kindle  heats 
To  her  soul's  detriment.     She  cometh  now. 
Show  her  all  reverence,  my  lord. 
(Exit  the  abbess.     Enter  Guenevere  from  the  right.} 

Gue  never  e 
My  lord. 

Arthur 
How  dost  thou,  my  lady  —  and  queen  ? 

Guenevere 

My  lord,  I  have  turned  from  the  world's  eyes  that 
Were  bent  so  long  hotly  upon  me.     And  thou  ? 

Arthur 

I  —  I,  but  'tis  no  matter.     I  am  come  to  say 
Farewell. 

Guenevere 
Farewell  ? 

Arthur 

And  pity  have  I  more  for  thee,  indeed 
Since  I  have  suffered,  suffered  humanwise. 
And  yet  I  do  not  blame,  thou  didst  no  more 
Than  I  to  bring  the  false  dome  down  —  no  more. 
Together  we  wrought  havoc,  thou  with  thy  love 
Loosing  bonds  not  to  be  loosed,  and  I 
Seeing  men  not  as  men  but  as  symbols  vague. 
Star-gazing  I  did  lose  the  earthly  road, 
And  visionary  flashes  blinded  me 
That  I  knew  not  the  common  lives. 

Guenevere 
Such  blindness  doth  tempt  men  as  dark  doth  thieves. 


7o  GUENEVERE 

Arthur 

The  man  blindly  good  is  good  to  himself 
Alone  —  to  others  he  is  evil. 
And  dreamers  should  be  dreamers  for  themselves 
Alone  —  for  plain   men   facts!     And  thou  ? 

Guenevere 

What  boots  it  us  to  weigh  one  'gainst  the  other  ? 
I  have  fought  the  rich  life-passion  from  my  heart, 
Pray  God  I  turn  not  back  to  it. 

Arthur 

Yea,  cleave  to  this  quiet  thou  hast  found, 
Hug  silence  to  thee,  lest  thou  shouldst  feel  perchance 
All  the  deep  wrongs  that  men  can  do.     Feigned  love 
That  covers  deep  designs,  ingratitude 
And  thankless  greed,  kinsmen  at  war, 
Murder,  rapine,  blood,  despair,  and  hate, 
Trusts  betrayed,  and  confidence  despised, 
I  have  felt  them  all  —  all.     Truly 
I  have  known  the  low  brown  earth,  have  bit  the  dirt. 
Ah,  madam,  pray  to  God  to  leave  thee  here 
Till  Death  shatters  the  flower  of  thy  life. 
('There  is  the  sound  of  horsemen  without,  and  the  noise 
of  arms.) 

Guenevere 
What  clangour  is  that  ? 

Arthur 

'Tis  my  horsemen,  I  did  ride  ahead  of  them 
Some  space. 

Guenevere 

Yea,  my  lord  Arthur,  all  of  life  is  not 
This  baseness  that  thou  tellst  me  of.     Are  these 
Then  enemies  of  thine  —  nay,  my  lord,  they  follow  thee 
Far  as  the  land  lasts  to  the  sea.     I  know 
There  be  sweet  human  things  in  life  for  men; 
The  handclasp  of  old  friends,  and  friends  to  share 
Sadness  and  joy,  old  voices  and  old  sounds, 
Sunlight,  and  walled  gardens,  and  wild  moors, 


GUENEVERE  71 

Eye  that  readeth  eye,  and  heart,  heart  — 
Ah,  my  lord,  there  is  more  sweet  than  gall  - 

Arthur 
Tell  me  not  — 

Guenevere 

Or  gladly  we  take  the  gall  as  well  as  sweetness, 
For  whether  be  the  sunlight  fierce  or  mild, 
What  man  but  fain  would  watch  the  shadow  grow 
And  on  the  dial  of  his  life  mark  time, 
Rather  than  darkness   and   unhoured  ways. 
(Dagonet  sings  without.} 
Ah,  there  is  Dagonet  singing  a  lay 
Unto  thy  knights.     It  is  an  old  song  that, 
And  tells  how  Joseph  of  Arimithy  came 
Into  this  land.     I  have  heard  it  oft  at  court, 
At  Pentecost,  my  lord,  dost  thou  remember  ? 

Arthur 

Nay,  I  know  not,  madam,  that  time  is  gone. 
And  now  farewell,  I  may  not  tarry,  fare 
Thee  well.     I  know  of  thee  and  me  that  each 
Shall  not  see  other  ever  more  with  fleshly  eye. 
And  now  I  must  needs  hasten  and  depart 
Back  to  Camelot  and  the  court  and  strife. 
But  afterward  shall  sail  to  Avalon, 
And  change  my  life  from  this  world. 
(From    the   chapel  come   the  voices   of  the    nuns   singing 
matins.) 

Guenevere 
Not  meet  again  ? 

Arthur 
No  mortal  meeting. 

Guenevere 
Alas! 

Arthur 

Nay,  madam,  nay,  haply  thou  mayest 
Be  queen,  when  all  the  goodly  knights  I  lost 
In  diverse  quests  and  ventures  will  awake 


72  GUENEVERE 

From  their  long  sleep,  and  form  in  heaven  again 
The  King's  Round  Table,  perfect  at  last,  and  there 
With  shining  arms  will  joust  in  Christ's  fair  courts 
For  diamonds  like  suns  and  carcanets 
Of  little  stars. 

Gu  en  ever e 

Ah,  God,  all  the  gall  of  the  world  takes  not 
The  dreamer  from  his  dreaming!     Thou  speakst  fair, 
But  slowly,  slowly  through  the  air  of  time 
The  drops  of  life  fall  on  eternity. 

Arthur 

Yea,  they  pass  slowly,  perhaps  no  man 
Can  count  them,  yet  they  pass.     And  when  thou  hast 
Set  down  thy  staff  and  book,  and  they  have  laid 
Thee  in  cold  sepulchre,  thou  shalt  not  stir 
To  note  the  passing  years,  nor  count  the  moons, 
For  drums  or  tramplings  or  the  utmost  heat 
And  noise  of  human  conflict  cannot  break 
The  mood  and  spirit  of  the  dead. 

Guenevere 
My  lord,  tarry! 
(Horns  and  bugles  sound  outside.} 

Arthur 

Lo!  I  leave  in  thee  the  fairest  part 
Of  all  my  fair,  sad  past.     Yet  - 

Guenevere 
Tarry 

Arthur 

I  know  not  yet  what  orisons  ye  pray, 
But  beg  thee  'member  me,  and  if  thou  seest 
Me  nevermore  again,  pray  for  my  soul. 
Farewell.     (He  goes.) 

Guenevere 

My  lord,  my  lord  Arthur,  do  not  leave  me! 
(He  looks  back  once  and  is  gone.) 
I  love  thee  too,  thou  wilt  not  leave  me! 
Take  me  with  thee  to  Camelot  and  the  court. 


GUENEVERE  73 

(She   runs   out   after  King  Arthur.) 
Arthur!     Arthur! 

(The  chant  in  the  chapel  leaves  off,  and  now  the  frightened 
sisters  rush  into  the  room.     Sister  Agatha  stands  at 
the  head  of  the  stairs.     Enter  the  abbess.     Outside 
there  is  a  clatter  of  horses  departing.) 
Agatha 
Mother! 

Morwena 

Yea,  the  queen  hath  a  wild  mood. 
Agatha 

0  God,  O  God,  King  Arthur  hath  ridden  away, 
And  she  weeps  after  him  like  mad.     There,  there! 
She  hath  torn  off  her  veil,  the  other  hand 

Hath  rent  the  emblem  from  her  breast,  snatched  out 
The  Sacred  Heart. 

Sisters 
Alas!     Oh! 

(Enter  Guenevere.     She  drags  her  veil  in  her  left  hand, 
with  her  right  she  has  torn  off  the  Sacred  Heart.) 

Guenevere 

Oh,  I  am  lost!     Curse  me,  mother,  curse 
You  sisters,  and  let  me  die! 

Morwena 
Nay,  daughter  — 

Guenevere 

Nay,  thou  shalt  not  touch  me.     I  am  she, 
That  woman  that  gave  up  the  world's  lusts 
For  her  spirit's  health.     And  now  I  have  trampled  down 
That  shrine! 

Morwena 
Leave  us,  you  sisters.     My  daughter,  let  God  choose  — 

Guenevere 

1  have  lost  both  kingdoms,  O  God,  and  now  my  soul 
Is  shipwrecked.     Jesu,  have  mercy!     Mother  of  God, 
Be  merciful! 

(She  falls  toward  the  prie-dieu.) 


74  GUENEVERE 


ACT  V 

A  year  later.  Same  room  in  the  convent  of  Boscastle.  It 
is  near  dusk,  but  the  afterglow  lingers,  and  the  garden 
and  cloisters  are  filled  with  red  light.  Guenevere  lies 
asleep  on  the  Roman  bench.  The  abbess  and  Sister 
A gat ha  attend  her.  On  the  right  sit  three  nuns.  Dag- 
onet  hovers  about  the  room.  Sir  Launcelot  talks  with 
the  abbess. 
Morwena 

'Tis  nigh  four  seasons  gone  since  thou  hast  seen 

Her.     A  little  and  thou'st  been  too  late. 

She  tarryeth  not  much  longer  in  this  world. 
Launcelot 

How  she  lies  faded,  poor  lady,  like  a  rose 

When    the    rough    wind    sucks    the   freshness   from    its 

heart. 
Morwena 

That  day  my  lord  Arthur  came  and  went, 

That  was  the  zenith  of  her  spirit's  star, 

That  day  after  vigils  and  hard  fasts  her  blood 

Burst  bond  and  cried  for  Camelot  and  glory. 

Then  flesh  fought  spirit.     Hardly  she  won,  but  lies 

Here  broken  with  the  struggle  as  thou  seest. 

I  know  not  if  this  may  be  well  or  no 

To  tear  the  heart-roots  of  your  being  out, 

Seeking  to  be  other  than  God  made  you. 
Launcelot 

Would  God  had  either  made  us  as  we  yearn 

To  be,  or  else  had  made  us  what  we  are 

Without  the  yearning! 
Morwena 

She  will  soon  waken,  wait.     Thou  sayst,  my  lord, 

King  Arthur  is  slain,  she  hath  had  word  of  it. 

What  of  Mordred,  that  vile  traitor  chaff 

That  maketh  foul  the  wind  ? 


GUENEVERE  75 

Launcelot 

Ah,  madam,  he  is  snatched  from  his  base  dealing 
Here,  he  too  is  slain,  and  Camelot 
Is  but  a  den  of  plots  and  arms.     Despair 
Shadows  the  hearts  of  good  men.     Alas, 
The  glory  of  the  realm  of  Logris 
Is  departed. 

Dagonet 

All  day  have  horses'  feet  clicked  by  —  'tis  knights 
That  ride  to  court. 

Launcelot 

Yea,  boy,  there  be  jousts  and  feastings  there. 
(A  distant  bell  sounds.) 

Agatha 

Saint  Necton's  tide-bell,   'tis  later  than 
I  deemed. 

Morwena 

See  how  strangely  the  sun's  red  lingers  yet, 
As  if  'twere  loth  to  yield  the  free,  hot  course 
To  the  subtle-working,  grey  night.     Likewise 
Meseems  our  lady  the  queen  still  doth  glow 
After  her  life's  hot  span,  and  her  veins  pulse 
With  the  rich  past.     How  faint  and  tender  the  bell! 
O  Death,  how  subtle  art  thou  in  thy  coming, 
But  afterward  long  night  and  haply  stars. 

Agatha 

Rather  say  that  like  the  moon  she  burned 
In  beauty  all  the  night  of  sin,  and  then 
Did  fade  in  the  new  day. 

Morwena 

Peace,  Sir  Launcelot!     Sure  I  am  grown  foolish 
Thinking  on  her,  poor  lady. 

Launcelot 

Nay,  likewise  all  my  thoughts  have  been  on  her. 
Whether  in  joyless  wood  or  when 
The  thin  prow  scudded  o'er  the  midnight  swell, 
Or  Breton  thatches  waited  in  the  harbour, 


76  GUENEVERE 

In  every  land  my  memory  sought  her. 

Dagonet 

And  I.     'Tis  many  songs  I  read  of  late 
In  this  lone  house,  of  ladies  beautiful 
That  suffered  and  are  dead.     And  always  when 
I  read  I  thought  of  her,  and  said  she  too, 
She  shall  be  beautiful  in  rhyme  till  the  world's 
End. 

Launcelot 

Aye,  and  her  name  into  men's  thoughts  shall  bring 
The  peerless  ventures  and  sweet  courtesy 
Of  this  the  summer  of  all  time.     For  still 
Her  soul  is  as  her  station  sovran,  and  when 
The  wild  sowing  of  man  shall  be  gleaned  and  the  world 

be  garnered 
She  shall  be  queen  at  fairer  courts  than  these  — 

Morwena 

Nay,  nay,  my  lord,  let  not  thy  heart  o'ersweep  thee. 
Daughter,  thou  spakest  thoughtlessly,  thou  art 
Yet  young  and  thy  young  piety  is  hard. 
Is  there  a  moon,  was't  yesternight  ?     This  old 
Head  is  so  racked  with  care  I  mind  me  not. 

Agatha 
I  know  not  either. 

Dagonet 

Yea,  mother,  'tis  but  one  night  to  the  full. 
Look!     The  sky  stirs  now  faintly  with  light. 

Morwena 

Hush,  she  wakes.     Sir  Launcelot,  go  thou 
Walk  in  the  cloister.     We  will  prepare 
Her  for  thy  coming  when  'tis  well. 

Launcelot 

Pray  you  be  not  o'erlong  —  I  know  not  how  much 
Of  this  frail  life  she  have. 
(Exit  Sir  Launcelot.) 

Guenevere  (waking} 
Ah,  'tis  dusk!     Even  at  this  time  it  was 


GUENEVERE  77 

That  in  my  sleep  I  dreamed  of  Camelot. 

Morwena 
Camelot,  my  daughter  ? 

Guenevere 

But  yet  somehow  it  was  a  brighter  place 
And  newer  city.     The  sun  sank  and  the  slim 
Moon  lifted  her  pale  beauty  into  heaven, 
And  dome  and  turret  glittered  in  the  light. 
Then  Mary  the  Mother  of  God  came  and  took 
My  hand,  and  her  voice  fell  sweet  upon  my  weary 
Ear- 

Morwena 
Speak  to  her,  boy. 

Dagonet 

Alas,  I  may  not  for  looking  on  her  face! 
Hark,  there  is  the  nightingale,  my  lady,    Look! 
Too  —  the  moon  riseth! 

Guenevere 
The  moon  — 

Dagonet 

The  moon  like  a  white  flame  in  the  trees,  like  liquid 
Silver  in  among  the  leaves.     Mother, 
I  cannot  speak!     Oh,  my  lady!     The  moon! 

Guenevere 

Distantly  rose  Camelot  out 
Of  the  silver  plain. 

Dagonet 
And  the  nightingales  — 

Guenevere 

Aye,  all  the  nightingales  in  Cameliard 
Cannot  sing  my  woes,  nor  every  bird 
That  sings  his  tragic  plaints  of  passionate 
Mischance  can  wail  my  sorrows. 

Morwena 
Nay,  madam,  sit,  thou  hast  not  strength  to  stand. 

Guenevere 
I  was  a  woman  and  I  needed  love, 


78  GUENEVERE 

I  was  a  queen  to  long  for  courts  about, 

Strong  lords  and  ladies  and  gay  raiment. 

I  am  a  weary  human  thing  that  needeth 

Rest.     Rest  is  the  thing  we  most  do  hunger 

For  and  know  it  not.     Sleep,  sleep,  it  is 

But  the  gateway  of  pure  rest's  abode.     Nay,  let 

Me     have     sleep's     sister,     black-garbed     death.      For 

queens 

Like  other  women  have  strong  need  of  death 
At  times  —  oh,  I  am  childish  grown  — 

Morwena 
Madam,  my  daughter  - 

Guenevere 
Whose  spurs  clink  walking  in  the  cloister  there  ? 

Morwena 
One  come  to  see  thee  and  to  say  farewell. 

Guenevere 

Farewell,  'tis  always  farewell  in  this  world. 
Is  it  Sir  Launcelot  ? 

Morwena 
Yea,  daughter,  he. 

Guenevere 
Let  him  enter. 
(Enter  Launcelot.) 
How  dost,  Sir  Launcelot  ?     Art  well  ?     Whence  comest  ? 

Launcelot 
From  Fraunce,  my  lady.     And  thou  ? 

Guenevere 

Thou  seest  I  have  found  peace. 
In   Fraunce   this   twelvemonth   gone  ? 

Launcelot 

When  the  sly  Mordred  bore  an  open  front, 
With  vassals  and  kinsmen  I  had  saved  the  king. 
But  he  would  have  it  not.     And  I  distraught 
Got  me  to  my  father's  land  again. 

Guenevere 
And  now  ? 


GUENEVERE  79 

Launcelot 

Now  having  word  of  the  king's  death,  I  knew 
The  ravage  and  the  spoil  within  this  isle, 
And  hasted  into  boats  and  blew  three  days, 
And  drove  into  this  tortured  little  harbour, 
That  thou  mightst  leave  thy  sorrows  here  and  go 
With  me  - 

Morwena 
With  thee  ? 

Guenevere 
Thee? 

Launcelot 

The  many-towered  castle  on  the  heights, 
Below,  a  little  Breton  hill  with  trees 
And  slow  white  sheep,  and  farther  west  the  grey 
Rocks  smoking  in  the  sun  at  ebb-tide,  heather 
And  pasture-bell  upon  the  seawind  mingling  — 

Guenevere 

My  lord,  thou  knowst  through  thee  and  me  is  this 
Whole  kingdom  sore  bestead,  and  the  sails  of  the  realm 
Veered  from  the  old  lodestar  of  purity. 
The  Round  Table  is  broke  and  many  knights 
Tasted  the  dolours  of  death  through  me  and  thee. 
Therefore  I  pray  thee  now,  Sir  Launcelot, 
Look  thou  not  on  me  evermore.     And  well 
As  I  have  loved  thee,  I  may  not  see  thee 
Again,  for  now  mine  eye  it  turneth  not 
To  the  worldward  but  to  God,  for  my  soul's  health 
Lest  I  be  damned. 

Dagonet 

My  lady,  there  be  worse  than  thou  now  saints 
In  heaven. 

Guenevere 

Thou  art  o'erfond,  child.     Then,  Sir  Launcelot, 
Much  as  I  have  loved  thee,  for  Christ's  sake  I  may 
Not  see  thee.     Therefore  I  pray  that  thou 
Depart;  and  pray  for  me  — 


8o  GUENEVERE 

Launcelot 

I  have  come  far  to  see  thee,  but  I  will 
Not  trouble  thee,  poor  lady,  with  fond  words. 
Sithence  thou'lt  have  it  so,  I  go,  yet  I 
Sail  never  on  the  sea  to  Fraunce  again 
But  to  a  hermitage,  and  make  my  prayers 
For  thy  soul's  rest  and  mine.     I  pray  thee  then, 
Before  I  go,  madam,  kiss  me  once 
And  nevermore. 

Guenevcrc 
Nay,  that  may  I  never  do  — 

Launcelot 
Farewell. 

Guenevere 

And  for  our  old  love's  sake,  Sir  Launcelot, 
Do  this;  when  I  am  dead,  come  thou  with  seven 
Knights,  and  carry  me  to  Glastonbury 
Where  my  lord  Arthur  lieth.     Pray  God  I  have 
Not  power  to  see  thee  with  my  worldly  eyes 
Again  for  my  soul's  sake. 
(He  starts  to  go  out.) 

Morwena 
She  hath  o'erspent  her  strength. 

Dagonet 
She  sleeps. 

Morwcna 

I  know  not  if  she  wake  again.     Thou  needst 
Not  go,  Sir  Launcelot. 

Morwena 

Weep  not,  my  daughters,  she  hath  fallen  asleep 
Gloriously. 

Agatha 
Yea,  madam,  Christ's  mother  hath  ta'en  her  hand  again. 

Dagonet  (falling  on  bis  knees) 
Dead!     Oh,  my  lady! 

Launcelot 
Nay,  she  doth  sleep.     Dead  ?     Art  thou  gone  ? 


GUENEVERE 


Gone  when  thou  art  all  mine  at  last  tho  late! 
Nay,  God's  life,  madam,  she  is  not  dead,  or  why 
Drives    the    blood    yet    here     in     my    heart!      Thou'lt 

wake  ? 

Nay,  dead,  oh,  dead  —  then  all  is  dead 
Forevermore! 

Morwena 
My  lord  — 

Launcelot 

Oh,  then  a  long  good  night  to  you,  my  lady! 
Good  night. 

(There  comes  the  sound  of  knights  clattering  by  and  sing 
ing  a  catch.) 

What  ho,  heigho,  with  bridle  and  spur! 

Heigho,  and  away  we  ride, 

For  men  do  love,  heigho,  do  love!  - 

Morwena 
Who  sings  ? 

Agatha 

'Tis  knights  returned  from  Camelot  and  the  feasts, 
The  new  king,  Constantine,  is  crowned. 


SCENE  II 

A  wood  near  Glastonbury.  The  wood  is  dark  and,  save 
for  a  rustle  of  the  leafage  now  and  then,  silent.  Pres 
ently  there  comes  a  light  through  the  trees,  which 
brightens  and  brightens.  The  tramp  of  footsteps  is 
heard  growing  gradually  louder.  Sir  Launcelot  and 
his  seven  knights  enter  with  the  queen's  bier  on  their 
shoulders,  and  eight  torches  burning  about  her.  Her 
head  rests  on  a  cushion,  and  on  her  breast  is  her  crown. 
A  pall  of  black  samite  bordered  with  gold  lilies  covers 
her  body.  The  knights  turn  in  behind  a  rocky  mound, 
then  reappear  among  the  trees.  Then  as  they  go,  every 


82  ']  GUENEVERE 

now  and  then,  their  torches  fash  further  and  further 
away,  smaller  and  smaller  points  of  light  amid  the 
columns  of  the  wood,  till  the  last  twinkle  is  gone  and  the 
blackness  returns. 

CURTAIN 


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7 


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